


The Road in is Not the Same Road Out

by savvysav



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Crossover, F/M, Friendship, Implied Relationships, M/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 71,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7132016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvysav/pseuds/savvysav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Shepard has dedicated her life to the Alliance, and being a soldier is everything she knows. She is prepared to sacrifice herself to save the galaxy from the Reapers, and when she has to make a call she chooses to destroy the catalyst. The strange confluence of energy displaces her to a new world and, without the Alliance to define her, Shepard will discover who she truly is while trying to recover what she lost. </p><p>(AKA - the Mass Effect/Dragon Age crossover that's been floating around my head!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Destroyed

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to follow this story and see where it takes me. Hopefully you'll want to come along for the ride. I'll update the tags as things happen! The title of this fic comes from a book of poetry of the same name by Canadian author Karen Solie.

“Let’s get this over with.”  
  
“Do what you must.”  
  
Shepard walked toward the junction of the catalyst with all of the determination that she yet possessed. She didn’t even hesitate when it came to the intersection, and immediately veered the right. She was going to blow this thing to hell without a second thought.  
  
This war, the Reapers, Saren—it had taken everything from her. Shepard had been on a solitary mission since that first shakedown run on Eden Prime years ago, and she hadn’t been allowed to stop until it was complete. Not even for death. Thoughts of those that she had lost burned in the back of her mind. Jenkins, Nihlus, Kaidan, Mordin, Legion, Thane, Anderson. Her heart ached for the “what ifs” and “could haves” that had been stolen away from all of them.  
  
She thought of Garrus, her best friend who could have been more. They had spent one wonderful night together before their Cerberus suicide mission, but after they had survived Shepard realized that if they tried to pick up where they left off, their relationship would interfere. It would make them lose focus, alter priorities, and hinder their ability to complete the mission. Although she had been loyal to him throughout her Alliance incarceration,  Shepard broke things off as soon as they had picked Garrus up on Menae. She told herself that it was better this way—like ripping off a bandaid—but underneath it left a festering wound. She bore that scar as she did all of her other battle wounds. She was glad that Tali would be there to take care of Garrus now. Hopefully he would have some peace, and Shepard could complete her mission. It was an empty consolation for her.  
  
As Shepard approached the panel she raised her gun arm, while the other clutched at her bleeding side. Shepard transferred her waning strength into all of the vitriol that she could muster, every bullet punctuating the conduit with the finality of a period. She emptied the entire clip into it and watched as the glass casing shattered. Time seemed to slow as she watched the energy erupt and she dropped to her knees, closing her eyes and waiting for it to overtake her. She felt a warm sensation as the air around her thrummed. Shepard took a deep breath. She had accepting this, knowing  all along that it would likely end this way. The Alliance had crafted her into a soldier above all else; she was a fine weapon fulfilling her purpose. A tingling sensation crept along her body, up her arms, across her shoulders, and down her back. It was everywhere, pulling at her. Something about it did not feel right.  
  
Shepard's eyes shot open to see what she could only describe as a tear in the space in front of her. She was too slow, her reflexes failing her as her life ebbed away, and she could do nothing to stop herself from being pulled into it. Shepard felt herself falling and then landed face first on hard ground.  
  
  
“Now! We must strip its defences, wear it down!” a heavily accented voice yelled.  
  
Shepard’s head felt heavy, but she could hear the well-known sounds of battle going on around her. She blinked her eyes a few times as she tried to clear her vision.  
  
“Drink this,” a voice said as it handed her what felt like a glass bottle, “It will heal you.”  
  
She didn’t have time to ask questions. Adrenaline and instinct took over as she rolled onto her back, trying to get herself off the ground. She downed the liquid, something horrendously bitter and unlike any kind of med pack that she had ever encountered. It made her feel better, and she noticed that the skin on her side was stitching itself back together. Her cybernetics were also doing their part, and she couldn’t help a smug smile. Lying little shit, she thought.  
  
A deep, demonic laugh rang out, and she looked over her shoulder to see a massive creature. If this was a kind of reaper, it certainly was not one that she had seen before. There was a massive green glow above it, and the same kind of tear that she had seen on the catalyst. There were a number of people surrounding it, attacking with what looked like biotics, and swords? Shepard gave her head a shake, trying to get it back in the game.  
  
Her omni tool seemed to be down and she had no heads up display running. She reached for a gun from her mag holster before she remembered that her armour was shot to shit. She didn’t immediately see her Carnifex anywhere, but she knew she had to do something. This looked like a losing battle at the moment, with a number of soldiers lying on the ground either unconscious or dead.  
  
“I guess it's biotics or bust,” she said aloud.  
  
Shepard ran into the fray, positioning herself directly in front of the beast. She didn’t notice any tech, and it seemed to be using some kind of electricity as its weapon. She didn’t have time to think on it too much. She shot out a powerful singularity, pulling the beast off of its feet.  
  
“What in the Maker’s name?” a voice near her gasped. It was the heavily accented one, and it seemed to belong to a tall dark-haired woman holding a shield and sword.  
  
“We’ll take all the help we can get,” responded the man who charged in next to her.  
  
Focusing her energy again, Shepard hit the creature with her most powerful biotic warp. It detonated and the creature reared back, dissolving apart into green energy and being sucked up into the glowing tear above them. Shepard watched as the man raised his left hand, green energy streaming from it and into the space above them. She watched, breathing hard, as the space closed with a loud pop. There was a blinding flash of light, and then everything went dark.  
  
  
  
She was in the forest again. The god-forsaken dark place where nightmares came to torment her. At least after so many visits she was aware of it now and could be ready for it. Shepard started walking, unsure of what she should be looking for. She wandered aimlessly as the voices haunted her, urging her forward. Was she finally dead? Had it all been some kind of strange end-of-life vision? She was pretty sure that it was generally said that your life flashed before your eyes when you died—but that had been something else entirely.  
  
There was a clearing up ahead and she moved towards it. She saw two figures standing there and tried to call out to them. She stopped short as soon as she could see them.  
  
_“So is this the part where we…shake hands? Wasn’t sure about the protocol on reunions. Or if you even still felt the same way about me. The scars are starting to fade.”_  
  
Garrus, she thought longingly. And then she heard a familiar laugh as she realized that the other figure standing there was herself. A shadow of herself. A memory. Perhaps this was the “flashing in front of your eyes” part.  
  
_“I remember they drove you wild, but I can go out and get all new ones if it’ll help,”_ Garrus continued.  
  
Shepard could feel a weight settling in the pit of her stomach as she remembered what came next. Remembered the look on his face…  
  
_“I appreciate everything you've been to me, Garrus. A friend, a lifesaver…and more. But right now I need the friend. I need you watching my back,”_ the memory Shepard said.  
  
Shepard stepped toward them, reaching her hand out toward Garrus as he began to speak.  
  
_“I understand. Distractions could be dangerous at a time like this.”_  
  
_“You were never a distraction Garrus,” the memory Shepard lied._  
  
_“Well, whatever we were…I enjoyed it, Shepard. No regrets here.”_  
  
_“Never.”_  
  
She watched as the two memory figures shook hands and then moved on to other topics of conversation.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Shepard said aloud, her hand hovering mere inches from Garrus’ face. “I should have told you the truth.”  
  
Shepard could feel the bile rising in her throat as she tried to choke back tears. The memory faded away and Shepard was left in the dark clearing of the burning forest. She fell to her knees and let out a yell of rage before sobs overcame her.


	2. Misplaced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shepard wakes up in the dungeon of Haven.

It was dark and cold. Her eyes adjusted slowly, and she noticed that she was in a cell of some kind, one of many inside a larger room. There was straw littered around the floor, and a couple of torches lit up in the centre. It looked like a dungeon. Shepard pinched herself as hard as she could, and the stinging pain told her that she was not dreaming. Perhaps she was dead, stuck in some kind of endless purgatory. She surveyed her surroundings, but nothing provided any immediate clues to her whereabouts.   
  
She heard voices echoing into the large room, and she rolled into the fetal position on the floor, pretending to be asleep while listening intently.  
  
“I am sorry Seeker, but I do not think she is a mage,” a male voice said.  
  
“But her abilities! I have never seen anything of their like before,” the accented woman responded. Shepard recognized it from before.   
  
“And she appeared out of thin air,” the woman continued. “How else do you explain that, if not through magic?”   
  
_Magic?_ Shepard thought as the voices entered the room, continuing to bicker. She could thought she counted four sets of footsteps, but it was hard to tell with the echo.   
  
“I believe that we should question her,” a soft female voice said. She sounded almost French, reminding Shepard of Dr. Michel.   
  
“Alright, but let us not take any unnecessary risks,” another male voice said.   
  
There was a pause, and no one else spoke. Shepard had been right, then. There were two males and two females. She assessed her options. She could fight her way out, hoping to overpower them with biotics. It would be close combat, and four to one odds weren’t great if they were all still armed with swords. She took fighting off the table, leaving only two options: she could go through their interrogation, holdout and try to get more information, or she could be upfront and see where it got her. She decided to play it by ear.   
  
Shepard heard a man clear his throat near her cell. He was attempting to wake her, she thought. She decided to test the limit and hold out a bit longer.   
  
“Excuse me, m—”  
  
“Cullen, this is ridiculous,” the accented woman interrupted.   
  
There was a loud clanging sound as something was slammed repeatedly against the bars of the cell. Shepard jumped up, pretending to have suddenly awoken. She moved into a defensive stance but held herself back from putting up her biotic barrier.   
  
She took in her captors, surveying them for information. The dark-haired woman with the accent she recognized. The woman was extremely defensive, a deep scowl set across very defined features. She had a sword at her hip and a shield across her back. Shepard knew immediately that this woman would not stand for any bullshit. Standing next to her at the door of the cell was a tall blond man with wavy hair. Cullen, she presumed. He was in full armour and wore a furry kind of cape. The entire getup reminded her of old vids about chivalrous knights and fair maidens. He held a hand over the pommel of a sword, calm but prepared. Behind the two of them stood another man and woman. The woman was fair and lean, wearing a hood over her head, and stood silent and observant. Shepard felt a twinge as the woman reminded her of Kasumi, and knew that she was not to be underestimated. The second man was thin and bald, with very pointed ears. He wore simple clothing and had a long staff strapped to his back. He was regarding Shepard carefully.   
  
She decided to test the waters and asked, “Where am I?”  
  
“We are asking the questions,” the dark haired woman said hotly. “Who are you?”  
  
Shepard stepped toward the bars and moved into a defensive position to mirror the woman’s. The woman let out a disgusted noise. It seemed that it would be easy to push her buttons.   
  
The man called Cullen stepped forward to move his body between the woman and the bars of Shepard’s cell. Shepard’s brought her eyes up to meet his, maintaining her stance.   
  
“We are in Haven, my lady,” he said.   
  
Shepard raised an eyebrow at the _my lady_ bit. That was a new one. Maybe he was the “good cop” in this group.   
  
“Allow me to introduce my companions,” he continued. “This is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Lady Leliana, Solas, and I am Commander Cullen Rutherford.”  
  
At that, Shepard dropped out of her defensive stance and asked him, “Commander? Are you military?”  
  
“Of a kind, I suppose. That is a bit of a story,” he said, removing his hand from his pommel to rub at the back of his neck. For the briefest of moments it reminded her of Garrus’ own awkward floundering.   
  
“Commander Shepard, Alliance Military. Acting Captain of the SSV Normandy SR-2,” Shepard said, standing at ease in front of Cullen.   
  
“Alliance military? I have never heard of such a thing,” Seeker Cassandra said, folding her arms across her chest.   
  
“And I suppose that you have travelled all of Thedas, Seeker?” the bald man—Solas—said.   
  
“Ugh,” Cassandra responded.   
  
“Is this Alliance a threat to us?” the woman called Leliana asked, stepping toward the cell.   
  
“Not unless you’re all Reapers,” Shepard said. “But since you’re all human, I would say no.”   
  
“I am an elf,” Solas said.  
  
“An elf?” Shepard repeated with surprise. _As in Middle Earth, fantasy story elf?_ she thought.  
  
Solas nodded.   
  
Shepard laughed to herself while the four people in front of her watched in confusion.  
  
“I sure as hell must be dead,” she said finally.   
  
“Excuse me?” Cassandra asked.  
  
“Look, when I destroyed that catalyst and the Citadel I am sure as shit positive that I was dying. I got sucked into some kind of tear in space where I ended up in the middle of that fight with all of you. If this is an afterlife, then it must be hell of some kind,” Shepard finished.   
  
“Do you mean to say that you came through the rift?” Solas asked.   
  
“What?”  
  
“The tear in space; we call it a rift. It is the glowing green energy that you saw. You appeared under it during the battle. That must mean that you came through it,” Solas stated, thinking aloud to himself.   
  
“Where are you from, my lady?” Cullen asked.  
  
“Please don’t call me that. Commander or Shepard is fine, but I am certainly not a “my lady” type,” Shepard huffed. “I was from Earth, originally, but later I travelled wherever the Alliance would send me. The Normandy is—was—my home, really. What system is this? What is this planet called?”  
  
The four people questioning her looked very confused by her questions. Shepard had noticed they were very low-tech. Maybe this was some kind of backwater colony that had been cut off for a while? Her head was starting to hurt.  
  
“I’m sorry—system? Planet? Haven is a small village in the country of Ferelden, which is a country in the land of Thedas,” Cullen responded.   
  
“Okay,” Shepard said slowly, “Do you have any contact with Earth? Any active comm systems?”  
  
Cullen raised an eyebrow at that. Shepard knew she was running into a wall here.  
  
“You know, I must be dehydrated, or a bit delirious. I have no intention of harming you if you have no intention of harming me. Perhaps we can call a truce, you can let me out of this cell, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know about me in exchange for some food and water?”   
  
Cullen looked back at Leliana, who nodded. He grabbed a set of heavy metal keys and went to open the cell.   
  
“Alright, my la—Shepard,” he said slowly, “We are amenable to your terms.”  
  
“What are these strange abilities you possess? Are you not a mage?” Cassandra asked immediately.   
  
“Abilities?” Shepard asked. “What’s a mage?”  
  
“Beings who possess magic,” Solas responded. “And the abilities to which the seeker refers to are the ones you used on the pride demon at the rift.”  
  
“I’m sorry, demon? That’s a joke, right?” Shepard said, putting her hands on her hips.  
  
Solas was regarding her with outright curiosity, but the others were looking at her suspiciously.   
  
“Demon, right,” Shepard laughed. “My _abilities_ are called biotics. I was exposed to a high amount of eezo as a child and then trained as an adept when I entered the military.”   
  
Now they were all looking at her like she had two heads. This whole conversation was making her head spin.   
  
“I can manipulate mass effect fields,” she continued. “You know dark energy?”   
  
They were still not showing any recollection.   
  
“Okay, look, this energy helps me perform these special abilities, as you call them. I have specialized offensive and defensive tactics that I use in combination with short range weapons,” Shepard finished.   
  
“Could you demonstrate some of this abilities for us?” Solas asked.   
  
With the amount of scrutiny he was giving her, Shepard was feeling a bit like a lab experiment right about now. She put up a biotic barrier around herself.   
  
“Fascinating,” Solas said.   
  
“Is this not similar to your barriers, mage?” Cassandra said, directing her comment toward Solas.  
  
“It is not unlike my own, but she is not lying: it is not magical. I can feel nothing being drawn from the fade, nor feel any mana being used,” he answered, then turned back to Shepard. “Where does the power for your abilities come from?”   
  
Shepard chuckled, “Well, I eat like a horse.”   
  
That garnered a few raised eyebrows.   
  
“Like I said, element zero exposure kickstarted my biotics at a cellular level from mutated genes.  I maintain them with training and conditioning, and I need to eat a lot to keep up my energy and metabolism.”   
  
The group still looked fairly confused, and Shepard sighed. This didn’t seem to be going much of anywhere, but she had made it out of the cell at least. She noticed someone enter the room and whisper into Leliana’s ear. The woman said something back, and then dismissed the soldier.   
  
“Cassandra, Solas,” Leliana said, “You are to gather your gear immediately and head out for the Hinterlands with the Herald.”   
  
“Of course,” Cassandra responded, heading out of the dungeon. Solas looked a bit forlorn, obviously curious about Shepard’s abilities, but eventually he retreated wordlessly.   
  
Shepard was left with Cullen and Leliana, waiting for them to make a move. She knew that she could likely take the two of them, but decided to wait a moment to see what they would say. Commander Cullen seemed to defer to Leliana, which told Shepard that although the woman had not been introduced with any official title, she was important.   
  
“You are in the care of our organization, which is called the Inquisition. We will release you from this cell into our private custody. You will be accompanied for now by Commander Cullen until another is assigned to you. You may wander Haven freely, though you may not leave its borders. Can you agree to this?” Leliana asked.   
  
“Yes ma’am,” Shepard responded. It wasn’t a good situation, but it wasn’t a bad one either. She could hopefully garner some more information from Commander Cullen, as well as their surroundings, and that would give her some time to come up with a game plan.   
  
“I will leave you to it,” Leliana said before bowing her head and taking leave of the room.   
  
Shepard stood with Cullen for a moment or two well he assessed the situation. He likely had many more important things to do that play keeper to a random stray that their group had picked up. Shepard knew what that was like.   
  
“Is Shepard your given name?” he asked.  
  
“I’m sorry?”   
  
“Cullen is my given name, and I am referred to as Commander Cullen. But Shepard seems to be an odd given name.”  
  
“Ah, my surname is Shepard. In the Alliance we only use title and surname. As I am obviously not on active duty, and it may be confusing for there to be two commanders, you can just call me Shepard.”  
  
“Alright,” he said. “I am curious to know more about your military. Perhaps you would be willing to share some combat tactics. It seems that you are a trained close range specialist. I am—was a templar. I fight close range with sword and shield.”  
  
He seemed to be rambling a bit, but was obviously excited. Shepard could tell that this was a man who loved his job. She respected that.   
  
“Sure, I’d be happy to talk. Over dinner perhaps? Maybe after a shower?”  
  
“Shower?” Cullen asked.   
  
“You know, after I get cleaned up a bit?” Shepard said, motioning to her body. Her armour was mostly melted away, and the rest of her was covered in mud, blood and gore.   
  
“Ah right, you wish to bathe! My apologies. You have such an odd manner of speech. I will take you upstairs and have someone attend to you. I will also send for some new clothing. Shall we?” Cullen said, gesturing down the hall.   
  
_Here goes nothing,_ she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Special thanks to those who commented/left kudos on the first chapter. I know it's a bit of a slow start, but I hope that you continue to enjoy it!


	3. Laying Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard tries to get her bearings in Haven.

Shepard sunk lower into the steaming copper bathtub. She had felt her fingers and toes pruning  long ago, but she couldn’t quite find the ambition to get out of the tub. She had been told that the water would not run cold, thanks to something called a rune, so she thought that she might test out the theory. She could not recall the last time she had had a proper bath. During active duty it had always been showers—quick and regimented. She had admittedly abused the authority of having her own spacious shower on the SR-2, but that in no way compared to this. Her body was so relaxed that her muscles felt like jello.  
  
Shepard took a few moments to study the small cabin that she had been assigned. It was fairly simple, but well made, and consisted of one large room with a table, chair, and a bed. It was not unlike her cabin on the Normandy, though this one was a little more rustic and lacked the obnoxiously large fish tank. Shepard sighed, closing her eyes and bringing up the picture of her old cabin in her mind. She could see it clearly: the large bed in the centre, the couch and coffee table in the corner, her desk, the shelves of models, all framed on one side by the fish darting around in their tank. It felt like a lifetime ago.  
  
She tried not to think of the implications of that. Either she had, somehow, ended up on a random planet that had reverted to the Middle Ages, or she was living out some kind of bizarre afterlife where she could remember the former one. Neither felt like a good option. She was going to have to give this some time and see how it all played out. She needed to earn enough good will to get ahold of a map, or have someone give her more information. Or, maybe her consciousness would eventually fade away from this ridiculous dream state.  
  
“Now you’re just being morbid,” she muttered to herself. “That’s enough self-pity for one day.”  
  
Shepard stood up and let the water trickle down her body and back into the tub before she carefully stepped out. She was searching for a towel to dry off with when the door to her cabin opened.  
  
“Shepard, I thought you might be hungry since it is rather—Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed, noticing the naked woman before him. He immediately covered his eyes, but Shepard could see the reddish tinge making its way along his cheeks and neck.  
  
She had long ago lost any shame for her body. There was no gender segregation in the Alliance, and the strict fraternization regs helped to prevent issues. That wasn’t to say that it never happened, but the instances were few and far between. Nakedness was just a regular part of military life.  
  
“It’s alright Commander,” Shepard said. “Nudity is fairly standard in Alliance barracks. I promise you aren’t insulting my womanly virtue or anything.”  
  
Shepard grabbed a large piece of fabric that seemed fairly towel-like and began to dry off.  
  
“Yes, well, you had been occupied a while and it is getting a bit later. I thought you might like something to eat and we could continue our conversation,” Cullen said, hand still thoroughly clamped over his eyes.  
  
“Come to think of it, I’m starving,” she said. “I’ll just finish getting dressed and then I’ll meet you in the mess?”  
  
Noticing his brow furrow with slight confusion she amended her statement. “Er, dining room? Hall? Where do you eat?”  
  
“Ah, yes. Up in the Chantry. I will see you there shortly.”  
  
With that, Cullen turned and swiftly exited the cabin. Shepard laughed, remembering herself as a blushing and naive recruit. _How quickly things change_ , she thought somewhat bitterly. She towelled off her body and tried to dry as much of her hair as she could. She saw clothing laid out on the bed and hoped that it would fit. She wasn’t sure that any of her N7 under armour could be salvaged, but she thought that she could at least try. She tucked that under the pillow on the bed for safe keeping.  
  
She picked up her dog tags, pausing for a moment to look at them. It was strange to think that something so small could mean so much to her. Shepard took the chain and put them on over her head, letting them fall into their normal resting place between her collarbones.  
  
There was a tube top that looked like it would serve decently for a bra, and some plain cotton underwear. She pulled on thick cotton leggings, followed by the tall leather boots. There was also a somewhat heavy cotton shirt, a leather jacket, scarf, and some leather greaves. It fit well, and was fairly comfortable. At least she would blend in a bit better now.  
  
Shepard exited the cabin and surveyed her surroundings. She had briefly taken them in while she was being escorted to her lodgings, but now she took the opportunity to look without being interrupted. The collection of small cabins was surrounded by large wooden walls of thick, pointed logs. She noticed that it was snowing, and that the village seemed to be within a mountain range. She could smell water close by, which likely meant that they were on a lake.  
  
Shepard took the winding path along the interior of the wall, making her way to the Chantry slowly. Whatever this organization—the Inquisition—was, it was somewhat small. She was not yet sure of their purpose, but she was hoping that the Commander could tell her more. He was fairly open to sharing information, it seemed, so Shepard hoped that she could give him enough to keep him talking. The Chantry reminded her of a large church, and as she entered through the large wooden doors she noticed a few people praying inside. Was this some kind of religious group? Shepard sighed. She hoped it wasn’t cult-y. It’d be like that Father Kyle nonsense all over again.  
  
Shepard noticed Cullen reading over some papers and addressing some soldiers near the back of the Chantry. She kept her distance but listened closely.  
  
“The Inquisitor and his party are entering the Hinterlands to meet Scout Harding. I would like you to be prepared to depart at once should they send word for assistance. Drills will begin promptly at dawn, so please inform the new recruits. Dismissed.”  
  
For someone who generally seemed like he could be a bit awkward, Shepard found herself a bit surprised at how easily Cullen assumed an air of command. Although some of her crew had probably said that about her at some point, too. She winced at the thought of the “ _reach and flexibility_ ” conversation she and Garrus had had in the main battery.  
  
“Are you quite alright?” Cullen asked as he approached her. He must have noticed the wince.  
  
“Just thinking of some of my more award-winning moments as a Commander,” she laughed.  
  
Cullen raised an eyebrow at that, but did not question her.  
  
“I had a much smaller crew, what with it being a ship. It must be quite the responsibility to command such a large number of infantry and recruits.”  
  
“Yes, well I manage the soldiers, and Leliana oversees our scouts. The Inquisition is still fairly small in number,” he said, moving forward toward what Shepard was assumed was the dining room.  
  
“You’re really going to have to explain this whole ‘Inquisition’ thing to me, Commander. I’m not sure that I’m catching your drift,” Shepard said.  
  
They must have been eating at an off hour for the regular shift as the room was deserted. Cullen waited for Shepard to take a seat at the table before he himself sat, and someone came in with two plates of food, setting it down before them. It looked like meat and potatoes, and Shepard did not waste any time digging into it. She ate happily while Cullen explained how their little group had come to be. He also explained what they called “The Breach,” which is what Solas presumed Shepard had fallen through.  
  
Cullen also provided her with some insight into the Inquisition’s collection of strays. Cassandra and Leliana were the instigators of this whole thing; he used to be a soldier until they had recruited him; Josephine was their charming diplomatic Ambassador; Solas seemed to be some kind of bizarre magic expert who had appeared around the time that the breach did; Varric was an author and general troublemaker that Cassandra had initially kidnapped but who now would not leave; and their glorious “Herald of Andraste” was some noble guy that they originally thought caused some kind of explosion, but seemed to have the only power that could close the glowing green rifts in space, so now he was one of them.  
  
This was a lot to take in.  
  
Shepard had finished her food by the time that Cullen had finished explaining the Inquisition to her. He had barely touched his.  
  
“Oh, I did not mean to take up so much of the conversation,” Cullen said as he noticed that she had finished. “I did say that it was a bit of story though, didn’t I?”  
  
Shepard laughed. “It’s alright, I can talk and you can eat now, if you’d like.”  
  
Cullen looked down at his food, as if considering whether or not he wanted to eat it. He pushed it away from himself.  
  
“I find that I am not that hungry, actually. Perhaps we could take a walk outside the fortification and I can show you the practice areas and the barracks? I would be happy to have your input—one Commander to another, that is.”  
  
Shepard nodded her assent, and no sooner had she risen from the table then someone had come to clear her plate. She hoped that these were staff and not servants. This was an odd place.  
  
She and Cullen exited the Chantry, taking a shorter route to the large wooden gates that she had walked past earlier. The view was absolutely stunning, and she took a moment to look out over the tents and across the lake and up to the mountains. The sun was just starting to dip behind them, tinting the sky with beautiful pinks and golds.  
  
Shepard walked beside Cullen as they toured the barracks, and she watched as the recruits sparred in the ring and practiced using their swords on dummies made of wood and straw. She was fascinated by the use of swords and shields, and also noticed some recruits dual-wielding shorter blades. She tried to map out their movements as she watched them, and wondered which she would prefer. These types of weapons were not often used, except by phantoms, and that dickbag Kai Leng.  
  
“What do you think?” Cullen asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.  
  
“I am impressed. I have never received this kind of weapons training, but it seems that your troops are well disciplined.”  
  
Cullen looked a bit surprised by her statement. “You’ve never used a sword? I know that your abilities are not magic, but you said you used short range weapons, so I assumed that you had meant daggers.”  
  
“Guns, actually,” Shepard said, earning her a look of confusion. “Imagine a really short, super powered cross bow that shoots pieces of metal instead of arrows?”  
  
“Maker’s breath,” Cullen responded, shocked by the suggestion. “That is hard to comprehend.”  
  
“I am very well trained in hand-to-hand combat, thanks to my specific biotic skills,” Shepard offered, hoping to pull him away from the previous subject.  
  
“That is useful, if you can disarm your opponent. You should learn to use a sword, however. I should warn you to be careful when using your abilities. At best people will think you are some kind of apostate, at worst they will question where you’ve come from and rumour will spread.”  
  
Shepard paused for a moment, considering his concern.  
  
“I’m a highly trained biotic—sometimes I use them without even thinking. It’s second nature to me. Can’t I just lie and tell people I’m a mage?” she asked.  
  
Cullen shook his head. “Mages use staves, not daggers or swords. And any templar or mage worth their salt would know that you aren’t using magic. Best to use your abilities only when necessary, or if the opportunity arises that they won’t be suspect.”  
  
Shepard huffed out an empty laugh, and noticed Cullen’s questioning look.  
  
“It’s strange,” she said, “you train for most of your life to be one thing, to do one thing, and when that’s taken away—well, I guess I’m feeling a bit lost.”  
  
“That is something we have in common,” Cullen said. He didn’t elaborate; she didn’t ask.  
  
“You could train with the recruits, if you would like. I oversee their daily training myself. Perhaps we could include some of your hand-to-hand combat to give them a bit more diversity?” Cullen said.  
  
The offer seemed genuine, and Shepard was inclined to take it. She needed to maintain a routine, and this was a good opportunity to earn the Commander’s trust. A bit of good will would hopefully help her figure out a way to fix her situation and get her home.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Shepard responded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go there - I love awkward Cullen.


	4. Sparring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shepard finally meets the Herald.

Shepard had been in Haven for nearly six weeks. She had spent every morning training under Cullen’s direction with the Inquisition’s recruits, and offering him advice where she could. She had not taken too well to a sword and shield, as it restricted her movements, and although she had excellent aim with a bow, she was too slow with reloading to make it of much use to her in regular combat. This week Cullen had suggested she work on the use of daggers instead, which would hopefully complement her hand to hand training. She was still trying to work out how she could sneak her biotics into the mix.  
  
Shepard had also taken the time to carefully observe the Inquisition. She had had a number of pleasant conversations with the resident diplomat, Josephine, as well as Flissa from the tavern, and Harritt, the blacksmith. Shepard received minor updates from Cullen regarding the Herald and his motley crew, who were travelling on horseback from  a city called Val Royeaux and would hopefully be arriving in a few days. Shepard knew that Cullen was only sharing enough information to keep her from bothering him about it, and recognized that there was likely a lot more going on behind the scenes. She understood that she herself was still an unknown quantity to the organization, and that they were trying to figure her out as much as she was trying to understand her own situation. They had made up a story about Shepard’s origin and asked her to adhere to it when speaking to anyone who was not on the Inquisition’s main council. She could live with that.  
  
She had noticed Lady Leliana speaking to a number of scouts throughout the camp, and realized that a lot of correspondence came and went through her. Leliana gave Shepard a wide berth and was obviously sizing her up. Shepard attempted to be on her best behaviour, and held back on demonstrating some of her more lethal skills. She needed to play her cards right.  
  
Shepard was practicing some of the attacking and defending stances that one of the soldiers had demonstrated to her when she noticed Cullen approaching.  
  
“Shepard, how are you faring with the set of daggers? Has Rylen provided you with an adequate tutorial?” he asked.  
  
She laughed, throwing one of her daggers into the belly of the straw dummy.  
  
“It’s alright, I guess. Hard to tell with straw and wood. I’d prefer to get some actual sparring in before I could say for sure,” she responded. It wasn’t that she minded all of the practice and conditioning, but she had been itching for a real fight for days. She sheathed the dagger she was holding and walked to retrieve the other one.  
  
“We don’t often let the recruits spar directly, I’m afraid. We don’t want them to be injured unnecessarily,” Cullen said.  
  
Shepard walked toward him with her patented smirk. “I’m no recruit.”  
  
“Er, no, I suppose you aren’t,” Cullen coughed.  
  
A few of the soldiers practicing around them had stopped to observe the interaction, and Shepard used it to her advantage.  
  
“What do you say Commander? How about a friendly spar for the sake of your recruits?” Shepard asked.  
  
Cullen cleared his throat and surveyed the gathering crowd.  
  
“Alright, a friendly match. But I warn you that I am a skilled templar, and I specialize in the use of sword and shield together. I will not make this easy,” he said, moving to gather the blunted sparring weapons.  
  
“Good,” Shepard said.  
  
She entered the makeshift ring and watched as the soldiers and passers by gathered in a circle around them. Rylen was stating the rules of the match and it seemed that a number of those in the audience had started taking bets. Cullen walked towards her and handed her two blunted daggers.  
  
“You can concede at any time,” he said. “Please do not cause yourself any undue harm.”  
  
Shepard just smiled and took her position in the ring.  
  
On Rylen’s signal the match began. Cullen immediately took a defensive stance with his shield and began moving slowly around the ring. Shepard knew that she needed to break his defences somehow, to get him out of his comfort zone. She stepped forward and lunged at Cullen’s sword arm, which he deflected easily with his shield. Shepard attempted another slash with her other dagger and he parried it with his sword. They spent a few more moments dancing around one another; Shepard was attacking, and Cullen was deflecting them easily, but he made no advances himself.  
  
“I thought you said you weren’t going to go easy on me, Commander,” Shepard taunted, slashing toward him with both daggers.  
  
Cullen braced himself with his shield and deflected her attacks with his sword. “I know that you are new to these weapons. I merely wish for you to learn.”  
  
Shepard spun around him, attempting to displace him with speed, but Cullen was an experienced fighter and had anticipated the move.  
  
“I like a challenge,” Shepard said.  
  
“Alright,” Cullen conceded, raising his shield arm.  
  
He charged toward Shepard, slamming into her with his shield. Shepard braced herself against him, digging in with her heels. Cullen’s surprise at her ability to withstand his attack was evident on his face. He furrowed his brow, attempting to push harder against her with the shield. Shepard smiled: her muscle and bone weaves were definitely holding their own. Using this to her advantaged, she lowered her shoulder and spun around Cullen, causing him to fall forward. Before he could right himself Shepard attacked his shoulder, pushing him down toward the ground. Some of the crowd cheered.  
  
Shepard pressed her advantage and attempted to strike with both daggers. Cullen brought his sword up across his body and deflected her attack before pulling himself up from the ground. He was on the offensive now, and charged toward her again, striking out with his sword this time. Adrenaline was flooding her body now and she could hear the sound of her blood pumping in her ears. Shepard deflected Cullen’s attack and kicked at his shield with full force, sending him stumbling back a bit. She was obviously holding up better than he had expected, as he had a very determined look on his face, and she noticed that he was starting to sweat.  
  
“Not exactly the walk in the park you were expecting, Commander?” Shepard said sweetly, batting her eyelashes.  
  
Cullen brought his sword up again, swinging it toward her. She caught it between both daggers, locking their stances close together.  
  
“You’re stronger than you look,” he said, wrestling to free the sword.  
  
“You don’t know the half of it,” Shepard responded.  
  
She stepped in toward Cullen and placed a foot behind his legs. She subtly channeled her biotics through her hands to give him an extra push, and the Commander landed flat on his back. She knew that she needed to be careful, but the competitive part of her couldn't help but use the built in advantage. Shepard quickly straddled him, bringing her daggers to his throat, to win the match. The crowd cheered.  
  
Cullen’s eyes widened, as he had obviously felt the force of her biotics. Shepard only raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
“I yield,” he grumbled.  
  
Shepard backed off and helped him to his feet after sheathing her daggers.  
  
“Well met, Shepard,” he conceded. “There is obviously more to you than meets the eye.”  
  
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she responded coyly.  
  
“My, my, this is quite the affair,” a warm voice called from atop his horse. He was handsome, with olive skin and dark hair.  
  
“My Lord Trevelyan,” Cullen responded, bowing his head.  
  
Shepard recognized the man that they called “the Herald,” whom she had briefly seen after falling out of the Breach. She had been too occupied with the sparring match to notice him and his party arrive, with a few new additions in tow. The crowd watching had begun to disperse.  
  
Shepard watched silently as Trevelyan dismounted and approached her. He bowed his head, taking her hand and kissing it lightly.  
  
“My lady,” he said.  
  
“Call me Shepard,” she said flatly.  
  
“Of course. Shepard, the strange woman from the fade with the remarkably mage-like abilities that apparently hold no magic. How curious,” he said, with a cheeky smile.  
  
Shepard crossed her arms over her chest and studied the man. He was obviously charming, but had an air about him that screamed “privilege.” She recalled that he was some kind of noble here, but she wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed.  
  
“I am sorry I missed the performance,” Trevelyan continued. “Our Commander is not easily bested.”  
  
“Shepard herself is a trained warrior, Herald. Her skills are quite impressive,” Cullen said.    
  
“Perhaps we should spar next time. I prefer the use of daggers myself. I am sure that we could learn from one another,” Trevelyan said.  
  
Shepard only nodded. Something about his self-assured attitude reminded her of Miranda. This man was confident in himself and in his abilities. Shepard wasn’t sure if he was as clever as Miranda, however, who used her looks to her advantage and caught people off guard with her brains. It was hard to tell with the Herald. Shepard wasn’t sure that she bought the whole “noble hero appointed by divine right” spiel that everyone else seemed to be eating up.  
  
Trevelyan was regarding her closely, as if he registered her skepticism about him, and it made her uneasy. She maintained what she hoped was her unreadable mask of command.  
  
A very short, broad man interrupted the two of them by stretching out his arms and loudly saying, “As entertaining as this whole display is, we’ve been traipsing around the Ferelden countryside and the Orlesian capital for weeks. I need a bath, a good meal, and a comfy spot by a nice fire—in no particular order. Perhaps then we could continue…whatever this is?”  
  
“Of course, Varric,” Trevelyan said, addressing the shorter man. “Let us all attend our quarters and reconvene for dinner together in an hour.”  
  
The new arrivals dispersed then, leaving Shepard and Cullen alone. Cullen began picking up the discarded weapons from the ring and replacing them on the racks.  
  
“It’s good for morale to see your Commander get knocked on their ass every once in a while,” Shepard said. “Reminds them that you’re a person, you know?”  
  
Cullen rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, “Yes, I suppose so. I am assuming that you speak from experience?”  
  
“Yes,” Shepard said. It was as if her heart stopped, as if something had grabbed a hold of it tightly and would not let go.  
  
Cullen might have been hoping for more than a word, but she did not elaborate. Part of her was relishing in the fact that no one here knew who she was. During the war she couldn’t set foot on the Citadel without being pestered by someone. Even before the whole Saren fiasco she had been a known quantity within the Alliance. The N7 program was an accomplishment of its own accord, and then there had been the Blitz. Everyone knew her face, her military record—and by extension, they assumed that they knew _her_. In this place, wherever the hell it was, Shepard did not report to anyone, and there were no expectations for her.  
  
“Perhaps I’ll see you at dinner,” she said, heading to her cabin before he could ask any more questions.


	5. Varric

He wasn’t eavesdropping—not really. He was just a bit slow to leave for dinner, that was all. It wasn’t his fault the two Commanders hadn't noticed that he was the slowest to leave. Varric knew that part of being a good storyteller was one’s ability to seek out a story in the first place, and he could smell a story here. The whole Inquisition was ripe for the picking with interesting tales to tell, but there was something special about this ‘Commander Shepard.’  
  
Varric has been there when she had fallen out of the Breach and had watched first hand as she picked herself up and charged right into the massive pride demon without even flinching. He remembered thinking that this woman had definitely seen some shit. She had passed out immediately after the battle and had fallen into a fitful sleep and did not seem as though she would wake up any time soon. And the Seeker, always ready to look a gift nug in the mouth, had immediately called for Shepard’s imprisonment. She was way to cautious, that one. Small wonder that the Seeker didn’t have many friends to speak of.  
  
Varric stuck close to the makeshift gurney that had carried Shepard back to Haven, and she had only uttered one single word: “ _Garrus_ ”. Whatever that meant. He assumed it was a name, as Shepard had breathed it in her sleep with nothing less than the truest affection.  
  
Now that he had seen her kick Curly’s ass with a smile and a laugh, Varric knew that there was a lot more to this battle-hardened warrior than any of them knew. He could feel all of that wonderful exposition just waiting to be discovered. Varric watched her chat with Curly as he put away the sparring materials. He stood up, awkwardly rubbing his neck in the way he often did. Something he said must have struck a nerve because Shepard’s face fell immediately and she quickly removed herself from the conversation. Poor, oblivious Curly.  
  
Shepard stalked off as Varric approached the sparring ring.  
  
“You coming to grab some dinner?” Varric asked.  
  
Cullen nodded and walked in stride with Varric toward the Chantry.  
  
“Quite the match you had there.”  
  
“How much money did you bet against me, Varric?”  
  
“Now Curly, you wound me!” he feigned innocence, looking shocked. Cullen shot him a skeptical look.  
  
“Unfortunately the Herald and I showed up too late to put any coin down,” Varric said. “Got to watch the takedown though.”  
  
Cullen chuckled, “She’s stronger than she looks.”  
  
Varric laughed and patted him on the back. He was a bit surprised at the camaraderie that had grown between the two of them. Perhaps it was the connection of Kirkwall that bound them together; something familiar in such an unfamiliar place. _Imagine if Hawke could see me now_ , he thought wistfully.

  
They walked into he humble Chantry dining room and joined the others that were already seated there. Varric realized that the only remaining seat was next to the Seeker, and dropped himself into it as unceremoniously as he could manage.  
  
“Ugh.”  
  
“A pleasure to see you as well, Seeker. Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Varric joked sarcastically.  
  
 The Seeker paid him no further attention and turned to talk to Leliana. From this angle Varric could see the beautifully sharp angles of her jaw and cheekbone, bisected by a large scar. He found himself wondering how she got it, and then admonished himself for wondering anything about the Seeker at all.  
  
“Will Lady Shepard be joining us for dinner?” the Herald asked the table.  
  
Varric could have sworn he saw Cullen’s jaw clench.  
  
“Don’t think so, Herald. She was headed back to her cabin when we came in,” Varric said.  
  
“Too bad. I was going to congratulate her on the win against our own charming Commander here,” Trevelyan said, beaming at Cullen.  
  
“I still think she is dangerous,” Cassandra said. “We do not even know what the full extent of her abilities are.”  
  
“All the better to keep her with us,” Leliana replied. “Besides, Solas said he does not believe that they are magic.”  
  
“She has been quite cooperative while in our custody,” Josephine said.  
  
Trevelyan took a large drink of wine before speaking up. “I understand she’s been spending a great deal of time with you, Cullen. Anything we should know?”  
  
Varric didn’t think that Curly could be wound up any tighter, but the Herald was definitely testing the limits.  
  
“No, my lord. I think that she finds herself in a strange place far from home and has been quite up front about it,” he replied tersely.  
  
Trevelyan was smart enough to leave it at that, and the table erupted in small conversations about Shepard: where she came from, if she was actually military trained, whether or not she was secretly a mage. Varric surveyed the room and took in as much information as he could. He noticed that Cullen was quietly staring down at a plate of untouched food. A few moments later the Commander pushed it away and left the table without a word.  
  
There was definitely a story in the making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually like to work with different perspectives, but most of the story has been told through Shepard so far. This is one of a couple short interludes that give a different point of view.


	6. Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard finds that someone understands her situation better than she imagined was possible.

The deep, resonant thrumming of the Reapers haunted Shepard’s dreams that night. She relived the battle of London, and their last desperate push toward the transport beam. This was a dream that Shepard had had so many times during the past few weeks that she had to wonder if it was, in fact just a dream, or if she truly was experiencing the memory of something that had actually happened to her. Sometimes in the dream she was watching everything unfold, an observer who was entirely removed.  Sometimes she was experiencing everything over again while she inhabited her own body.  
  
Shepard was usually aware that it was a dream. It was as though she instinctively knew that she had seen this before, or lived this before, and it always played out the same way. She was running now, sprinting as hard and as fast as she could toward the transport beam, Harbinger be damned. She knew what came next.  
  
A Mako came flying at them, narrowly missing Shepard, but making contact with where Garrus and Ashley had been. Shepard turned and ran to them, and seeing Garrus’ injuries she called for Joker to do an emergency evacuation with the Normandy. It always came down to that fierce and desperate instinct to protect them; she had lost too many of her people. The only one of them that was expendable was herself, and she was going to make damned sure that they did not lose anyone else.  
  
Garrus protested, as he always did, when Ash tried to get his limping form onto the ship’s cargo bay platform and take him to the med bay.    
  
_“You gotta get outta here!” Shepard yelled._  
  
_“And you’ve gotta be kidding me!”_  
  
_“Don’t argue Garrus.”_  
  
_“We’re in this ’til the end.”_  
  
_“I need to know somebody’s getting out of this alive,” she said._  
  
_“Just make damned sure that includes you, too. Even if I am the better shot.”_  
  
Shepard had witnessed this entire scene so many times that the dialogue was now automatic to her. This time, however, in that moment Shepard realized that both she and Garrus had known that this was the end. That beacon was a one way ticket.  
  
Now she was concretely aware of Ash’s knowing look, her eyes moving between Shepard and Garrus. When they had all started out on the SR-1 Ashley had been far from tolerant, but Shepard had been patient and had tried to show her that species doesn’t matter. Eventually Ash had accepted that and understood. Now, Shepard realized with surprise, Ashley looked devastated on Shepard’s behalf, knowing exactly what she was trying to avoid saying.  
  
_“Always. Take care, Garrus.”_  
  
Garrus had been her best friend. He had always trusted her, always had her six. She loved him.  
   
Shepard took off toward the beam and she never looked back.  
  
  
  
Shepard threw her covers off and hastily dressed in a tunic and leggings before exiting her cabin. It was still the middle of the night, the inky black darkness blanketing Haven. The glowing green Breach was pulsing above them, tendrils of it spilling through the sky above the mountains. Shepard thought it looked menacing, but did not think of it as overtly dangerous. It did not terrify her in the same way that the slow moving, monstrous frames of the Reapers had. The Inquisition’s big bad didn’t even have a name yet.  
  
The soldiers at the gate let her pass, most of them now recognizing her from training sessions with Cullen and the other recruits. Shepard found herself walking out to the dock of the lake. This was the best vantage point for the clearest picture of the stars. None of these constellations looked familiar to her at all, and a part of her yearned for the familiarity of the Sol System. Or Widow, even.  
  
“You miss home,” a deep voice said.  
  
Shepard had not heard him approach but she looked over to see the bald man, Solas, standing beside her. He was standing at ease with his hands laced behind his back. It made her wonder if he himself had ever had military training.  
  
“Don’t we all, in our own way?” Shepard said evasively.  
  
“Ah, but your home is very different, is it not?” he retorted.  
  
She felt the need to put her guard up with this man. He listened more than he spoke, overall, and she had noticed that he seemed very observant.  
  
“Yes,” she said.  
  
“Ships that sail through the stars. So many, many miles traversed so easily. It is quite beautiful,” Solas said.  
  
Shepard did not say anything. A chill went down her spine and she felt her body tensing up. She was always ready for a fight if she needed to be.  
  
“I do not mean to make you apprehensive, Commander Shepard. It is just that I have seen your world through your eyes many times in the fade,” he said.  
  
“Excuse me?” Shepard said sharply. She felt her biotics sparking within her, flaring to life in her hands. Solas instinctively took a step back.  
  
“I meant no offence! The fade is the realm of spirits. Our dreams connect us to the fade when we are asleep. They are alive in the fade, and yours called out to me.”  
  
“You mean to tell me that you can enter other people’s dreams whenever you want?” Shepard asked, ceasing her biotics.   
  
“Not everyone can do this. I am a particularly talented mage in this capacity. I am sorry. You are a bit of a mystery to us all, and have told us little of your world,” Solas said.  
  
Shepard nodded at him. She could understand his position, after all. He had been doing nothing more than a bit of recon, accessing the intel that was available to him. It wasn’t much different than when Shepard had read all of the Shadow Broker’s compiled files of her teammates. She hadn’t even told any of them that she knew anything.  
  
“It’s alright,” Shepard said finally, turning toward the lake. “It’s nice that someone can understand it without my having to explain every detail. I haven’t said very much because I know how it must sound to everyone hear. It’s so drastically different—they’d think I was nuts and lock me up in a heartbeat.”  
  
Solas chuckled at this. “Seeker Cassandra most definitely would. She did initially lock up the Herald, after all,” he said.  
  
Shepard laughed. The Seeker seemed like a harsh woman, though Shepard could definitely relate to the fact that she was ultimately just doing her job. Shepard respected the woman, although they had had little interaction.  
  
“Tell me more about your Herald, and I’ll answer your questions about my world,” Shepard said.  
  
Solas nodded. “Shall we walk?”  
  
Shepard matched his stride as the two of them started down the path to Haven’s trebuchets. Solas began by telling her of the Herald’s fall from the breach, and how he had been found at the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He also had to explain what that was, and give Shepard a minor crash course in the Andrastian faith in order to provide some context. He explained that he had come to investigate the Breach, and had been tasked by Cassandra to contain the anchor and save the prisoner’s life so that they could question him. She was able to piece together the rest of the story with that Cullen had told her weeks earlier.  
  
They had reached the end of the path now, and were fairly far from Haven.  
  
“And now we are travelling all over the southern continent building up the Inquisition, recruiting members, and attempting to discover a method of closing the breach,” Solas finished.  
  
“That’s no small order,” Shepard said.  
  
“It would seem that that is something you are familiar with, Commander.”  
  
Shepard took a deep breath, and motioned for them to turn and walk the path back to Haven. She didn’t even know where to begin to explain. She didn't really want to talk about herself, so she started with the Normandy and its first shakedown run with Nihilus. She started at Saren, the Prothean beacon, and the hunt that followed. She explained everything that they had uncovered about the Reapers and their planned destruction, and she told him of Saren’s death. She didn’t mention her own.  
  
As they continued walking she explained how the Council had turned on her, refused to hear her, and how Cerberus had been the only option. She told him vaguely of their impossible suicide mission, and their success. She did not tell him about all of the energy and effort she had put into getting her crew to trust her and to work together, or about all of the missions she had gone out of her way to do for their benefit.  
  
She did not tell him of Garrus, or the night they spent with their bodies desperately entangled in one another before facing what they thought would be certain death.  
  
 She told Solas of their success against the Collectors, the new Reaper, and her incarceration by the Alliance. She told him of the Reaper attack on earth, the escape with the Normandy, and their mission to find a weapon to destroy the bastards. She mentioned Mars, the Citadel, Palaven, Sur’Kesh, Tuchanka, the Migrant Fleet, Rannoch, Thessia, Horizion, and Cerberus Headquarters. She painted the picture with broad brush strokes, glossing over many of the finer points of the story, and she stopped when it came to Earth.  
  
“I guess you know what happens from there,” she said.  
  
Solas nodded thoughtfully as they entered Haven again, walking through the gates. He walked Shepard up to her cabin. He spoke before she could enter.  
  
“There must have been some kind of confluence of energy, something which caused a tear between realities,” he said.  
  
“The Catalyst—when I was on it, there were these huge generators. I destroyed them, and there was a surge of power.”  
  
Solas nodded thoughtfully. “This must have corresponded with the Breach opening in our world.”  
  
Shepard felt a cold ache trickle down her spine. “That’s a pretty big coincidence, isn’t it? Something like that—well, we’d have to replicate it for me to go home, right?”  
  
She understood the look that Solas was giving her now. It was one of pity, and it did not make her overly hopeful.  
  
“We do not know what will happen when we close the Breach. There is a chance, perhaps. I will try to find out what I can.”  
  
Shepard could not bring herself to say anything.  
  
“Thank you for speaking with me,” Solas said. He took his leave then, walking in the direction of his own cabin.  Shepard closed the door to her cabin, resting the full weight of herself against it. She felt her body involuntarily sliding down to the floor, sinking until she was on the ground with her back against the door.  
  
She felt hollowed out after sharing so much with Solas. She could not bring herself to cry, or scream, or even laugh. In this moment she felt nothing. A part of her thought that perhaps she had always been like this. She was a soldier who followed orders, fulfilling the mission at any cost. She did not have the capacity for happiness, rage, or love. She was a conduit for these feelings as they passed through her, but they did not remain. Now she had no mission, and no orders aside from “ _don’t leave Haven_ ”—which wasn’t particularly difficult to follow considering the fact that she had absolutely no idea where she was and had no way of going home. She realized in that moment that she wasn’t even sure what she would be going back to.  
  
 Shepard stayed on the floor and stared out in front of her until her vision was blurred. Eventually she brought herself back into the present moment, but she had no way of knowing how much time had passed.  She could see the sky through her window brightening with the pastel hues of early dawn. Training would be starting soon, but she was having trouble finding the ambition to even get herself off of the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to express my gratitude to everyone who left kind notes and interesting thoughts about this story. I really appreciate those who have continued to read it. It is very encouraging to see that people are interested in engaging with this (and with me!). I hope that you continue to follow where this leads.


	7. Mr. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shepard travels with the Herald's party.

Shepard had not gone back to sleep, and she had skipped out on morning training as well. Once she was certain that the breakfast hour had finished she pulled herself up and stretched out her limbs, which had long ago fallen asleep. Her plan was to sneak into the Chantry for a late breakfast, and sneak back out and head to her cabin for some sleep, while hopefully avoiding everyone.  
  
The best laid plans, as they say.  
  
She could hear the argument coming from the CIC—War Room—as she was about to enter the dining area. It was not as though she meant to eavesdrop, but the yelling was a bit hard to miss. She paused for a moment, and was about to continue on, when she heard her name. She looked around for anyone standing nearby before moving closer to the door.  
  
“This is ridiculous. We don’t even know where she comes from,” she heard Cassandra’s disgusted voice emanating through the door.  
  
“She's a Commander, and a warrior. She’s been training with Cullen every morning, and he says she has some skill with short blades. Not to mention her ‘magic-that-isn’t-magic.’ I want to take her to get some real experience,” she heard the Herald say.  
  
Josephine spoke next, more to herself than anyone in particular, saying that Shepard was an unknown quantity and it might be helpful to try and figure out her motivations. Or how they could use her for the Inquisition’s benefit. It often sounded as though she were thinking out loud.  
  
There was a pause in conversation and Shepard imagined a bit of a standoff in the room. She should have gotten up and went in to the dining hall for breakfast, or went back to her cabin to go to sleep. Instead, she straightened up and opened the door to the war room before she could tell herself not to.  
  
“Commander Shepard reporting for active duty.”  
  
She marched up to the war table and stood at attention, ignoring the shocked faces of those around her. She was staring straight ahead looking at Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana. The Herald and Cassandra stood at her sides. She noticed that Leliana had raised an eyebrow at the intrusion, but Shepard thought she had also seen a small smirk. It was gone within a second.  
  
“I do believe that my argument has been made for me,” the Herald said smugly, addressing those around the table.  
  
Cassandra responded with a disgusted noise but said nothing to contradict him.  
  
Shepard noticed that Cullen gripped the pommel of his sword quite tightly. She saw his other hand move up to his temple for the briefest of moments before he moved it back down to his side, making a fist. His jaw tensed. It reminded her of the ways that Kaidan used to try and hide his migraines. She wondered if Cullen got them as well, and how he managed. She was fairly certain ibuprofen was not readily available in Haven.  
  
“You’re certain that you want to do this Shepard?” Cullen asked. Her name sounded warm when he said it. Familiar.  
  
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”  
  
“Wh— of course you may speak. It is your fate we are discussing,” he said sharply.  
  
She tried not take the frustration in his voice personally; she didn’t think it was directed at her.  She stood at ease and addressed the room.  
  
“I have been a soldier since I was old enough to enlist. I follow orders, I look out for my team, and I know that the mission is of the utmost priority. I could be of some use to your organization, whether that’s here in Haven or out in the field. I just want to serve.”  
  
Shepard thought she saw Cassandra nodding with approval beside her, which was a welcome surprise. Cullen was staring down at the war map. Trevelyan was puffed up like a peacock now, ‘I told you so’ written all over his face.  
  
“It’s settled then! We head out for the Storm Coast tomorrow. I’ll be taking Lady Shepard, Lady Seeker, Varric, and Solas,” he said.  
  
Before he left Trevelyan nodded to Shepard and said, “I look forward to travelling with you.”  
  
Cassandra followed him out. Shepard stood and waited to be officially dismissed. Cullen stiffly walked around the table and out of the room without even glancing in her direction. Leliana and Josephine looked at one another. Shepard assumed that she was dismissed and turned on her heel to head out the room. She overheard the two advisors speaking as she walked out.  
  
“Poor Cullen,” Leliana said.  
  
  
  
Shepard hadn’t been entirely sure what she expected it to be like working in the field with the Herald and his team, but she certainly had not thought that they would be travelling entirely on horseback. It made sense in theory, of course, but she had been struggling a bit with the practical application. Cassandra, who seemed as though she was giving Shepard the benefit of the doubt after her War Room interruption, was instrumental in instructing Shepard about proper riding posture. After nearly a week on horseback she was now starting to get the hang of it.  
  
They had finally made it up to the Storm Coast after a solid week of camping and riding, and after debriefing with Scout Harding the Herald had suggested that they stay in camp for the night before getting an early start to seek out a mercenary band in the area. Although he put on an air of sarcasm and silliness, the Herald did not seem to be prone to rash actions. Shepard could respect that, as she herself was often a proponent of a more act first, think later mentality, throwing herself head first into most situations. It was something that Garrus had teased her about the entire time they worked together, saying that he had to cover her six because she wouldn’t do it herself. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” Varric asked.  
   
Shepard realized that she had been daydreaming. They were having dinner around the campfire, eating a mysterious stew that made her a bit nostalgic for Gardiner’s cooking. Varric was looking at her with a kind smile, and she noticed that Solas was also watching her from the corner of his eye. The Herald and Cassandra were talking farther away from them, bent over one of the large wooden tables and looking at some papers.  
  
“Just remembering my old squad—some of our time out in the field,” she said.  
  
“I’m all ears, if you’d like to share. I’m rather fond of storytelling.”  
  
Solas interrupted, saying, “Master Tethras is a famous author here in Thedas. He wrote The Tale of the Champion about his dear friend Hawke and their exploits in Kirkwall.”  
  
Varric scoffed. “C’mon Chuckles, this isn’t about me. I’d like to hear more about Shepard. I thought Trevelyan’s story was weird. Falling through a fade rift from another world? That shit is unreal.”  
  
“Tell me about it,” Shepard said.  
  
Solas was giving her a warning look, suggesting perhaps that she not reveal too much. Her gut was telling her that Varric was genuinely interested in hearing what she had to say, and she did not feel that he would betray her trust. They had spoken a few times on the way up to the coast. He had told her that he had been brought to the Inquisition by Cassandra—who made a disgusted noise when he tried to tell the story, and interrupted him before he could get too far into it. Varric had just smiled at her and made some offhand comments about stabbing things, but he didn’t finish his tale.  
  
Varric was silent now, waiting patiently for Shepard to continue. She decided that there might be a few things that she could reveal to him without giving away too much. It was important to provide some good will to the people who would be fighting beside you.  
  
“My parents died when I was young, so I grew up mostly on my own. I fell in with the wrong crowd for a while, but I did what I needed to in order to survive. Where I come from you have to be eighteen in order to join the military. I had never really thought about it, but I had a run in with one of the officers who was doing recruitment. He convinced me that the Alliance was a way to better myself, to make something of my life. There was something about him that convinced me to follow through with it.”  
  
Shepard paused, taking a deep breath. She remembered that first time that she had met Anderson, who had been doing a recruitment tour on behalf of the Alliance. She had tried to hack his omni accounts, and he had caught her in the act. Instead of arresting her or turning her over to the cops, he suggested that she enlist instead.  
  
“I worked my way up through the training program. I was tapped for the N program, Alliance special forces, and made it through N7, which is the highest combat training rank they offer. Being a soldier is—was—my entire life. I was involved in a battle that was part of what we call The Blitz, when I was stationed at Elysium. I fulfilled my mission and they gave me a medal for it.  “After that, the man that recruited me, Captain Anderson, requested me to be his executive officer, which is how I ended up on the Normandy. Our first shakedown run went sideways, and well—it’s a long story from there. Suffice it to say that at the end of it all, I wound up here.”  
  
Shepard stared down into her bowl. She did not like talking about herself, and she had no idea how to explain the last few years of her life. Especially to people who didn’t understand the concept of indoor plumbing, let alone galactic space travel.  
  
“It’s not a bad start,” Varric said. “I’m sure we could jazz it up a bit.”  
  
Shepard laughed at this.  
  
“Jazz it up however you’d like Varric. I think I might prefer your version to the real thing,” she said.  
  
She noticed Solas looking at her with what may have been sympathy, or perhaps pity.    
“Either way, I’m glad you’re here Commander. You’re keeping things interesting, that’s for sure,” Varric said.  
  
“You don't have to call me that. Cullen’s the Commander here, not me.”  
  
Varric let out a hearty laugh and said, “Maybe so, but he’ll always be Curly to me—we go all  the way back to Kirkwall. Besides, Shepard seems too formal.”  
  
“Whatever you say, Varric.”  
  
“Please Shepard, don’t encourage him,” Solas said.  
  
She laughed and continued to eat her stew, listening to Varric as he joked around with Solas. This felt all too familiar; it was like the nights spent in the Normandy’s mess hall when the crew had miraculously found some downtime. They would all talk and joke, play cards, or have a few rounds of drinks. She missed it desperately.  
  
Trevelyan came down to sit on the bench beside her, and Shepard nodded at him. She wondered if Trevelyan was his first name. Most people called him “the Herald” or “Lord”, so it was a bit difficult to tell.  
  
His face was clean shaven, and he had sharp cheekbones and dark grey eyes. He was handsome she thought, and he seemed to know it. She guessed that he was in his mid twenties. Shepard had yet to see him fight, but two daggers were strapped to his back at all times. He sat quietly beside Shepard as he ate. She wondered if he was sizing her up in the same manner.  
  
Cassandra came to stand near the fire, warming her hands for a moment before she spoke.  
  
“I believe we should get some rest. We can wake early in order to seek out this Iron Bull.”  
  
“Seeker, you’re no fun,” Varric said.  
  
Cassandra scoffed at him, but did not immediately head for her tent.  
  
“Join us for a while and then we can turn in for the night. Maybe someone will be compelled to share a song, or a story,” Varric surveyed the group as he said this, and Cassandra decided to sit down with them.  
  
Shepard listened intently as Trevelyan launched into a tale about childhood escapades with an older brother back home. She tried to remember to ask for a map that she could carry with her so that she could plot all of the cities that she was learning about.  
  
After Trevelyan had finished his story Varric immediately jumped into one of his own. It was about his home city of Kirkwall and his friend Hawke, who seemed fairly infamous. Cassandra rolled her eyes at the mention of him, but still seemed to listen intently.  
  
Shepard was curious about what had happened between the Seeker and Varric. The two of them seemed to have some important shared history, and she couldn’t tell if their disdain for each other was quite as thorough as they made it seem.  
  
Solas told a short story about Daerwin’s Mouth, a dwarven trading post which was meant to connect the sea to the Deep Roads. Shepard was a bit amazed at how much Solas had learned from his explorations of the Fade. He was a very knowledgeable man, and often seemed lost in thought. There was something odd about him which Shepard couldn’t quite put her finger on. Despite his willingness to open up to her, she wasn’t sure that she should trust him entirely.  
  
She realized that she had retreated inside her own head for too long when she noticed the party’s eyes watching her expectantly.  
  
“Well, Lady Shepard?” Trevelyan asked with a smirk.  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“Story or song.”  
  
“Cards aren’t an option?” she evaded.  
  
Varric laughed. “We’ve got to know each other better before we can start taking your money.”  
  
“Well I’m not sure that you’d believe any of my stories,” she responded. “Or understand them, for that matter.”  
  
She wouldn’t even know where to begin. The thought made her stomach turn. If only she had been Asari—she could have mind-melded and made everyone understand immediately.  
  
“Don’t underestimate the power of a good story,” Varric grinned. “There are some things that are universal: heroes and heroines, epic battles, cautionary tales—doomed love affairs.”  
  
They way he said it cut right through her. It had always been a thought that burned in the back of her mind: in another life, another time, they could have tested the waters of a relationship. Or perhaps they never would have met, and she should be happy about the time that they had been able to spend together. It was not a circumstance that could be replicated. She only hoped that he felt the same, and he would be contentedly living his life elsewhere, beyond reach, leagues upon leagues of distance between them.  
  
“Ah! Doomed love affair it is,” Trevelyan exclaimed. He was practically beaming now. Shepard wondered where his ability to remain sickeningly upbeat came from. When directed at her, that energy made her feel like punching him.  
  
Their attention was directed at her now, patiently waiting.  
  
“What’s said in camp, stays in camp,” Varric assured her. She wasn’t sure that it made her feel much better.  
  
“His name was Garrus,” she began. She tried to steady her voice, told her self to think of this as a debrief; she just needed to focus on the sequence of events. “We were both military trained. I was Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, and he was an investigator, when we started working this big case together. We were hunting down the guy responsible for that botched shakedown I mentioned. His name was Saren.  
  
“When we started putting together the pieces on Saren we realized that this was a much bigger war than anyone had anticipated. We had to bring all of our races together, united to stop a threat that was hell bent on wiping us all out. It took up three years of my life. Garrus was there for every minute of it and he always had my back without question. My closest friend.”  
  
Shepard took a deep breath. She had been staring straight ahead, trying to avoid their eyes as she told the story. She took a quick glance, noting Varric and Trevelyan were paying close attention, whereas Solas maintained a neutral expression. Shepard was surprised to see that Cassandra was, of all of them, absolutely enraptured, leaning forward to cradle her face in her hands with her elbows propped on her knees.  
  
“What happened?” the Seeker asked breathlessly.  
  
Shepard took another breath before beginning again. “Well, we were basically forced into a pretty tenuous alliance with an enemy force in order to go on what was basically a suicide mission. We didn’t think that anyone was going to survive, so we spent the night before that mission together. It was amazing in the most surreal way… And then we actually survived the suicide mission, but we still needed to win the war.”  
  
Shepard clenched her fists tightly. “I’m a soldier before anything else. The mission always comes first, and I didn’t think that either of us could afford the distraction—not with the entire universe on the line. So it was only ever that one night.”  
  
Shepard saw Cassandra wiping tears from her eyes.  
  
“And now?” Cassandra asked. “What happened to him?”  
  
“During the last few months of our mission I think that he and one of our other crew members became involved with one another. I love them both dearly, and I hope they’re happy. I hope they survived. The last I saw either of them was in the city where we made our last stand. I detonated a massive weapon against our enemies, and by all rights I should be dead. Instead I woke up here.” She finished without faltering, but suddenly felt exhausted.  
  
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Trevelyan said, perhaps as some kind of comfort.  
  
“Who knows, T. Either way it sucks. The world is not always kindest to the ones that deserve it most.” Varric was far more perceptive than he appeared.  
  
“If I had died, it wouldn’t matter. But being here, being able to run through it all over and over again—well it makes the regret pile up a bit easier,” Shepard replied.  
  
“Commander, let me pour us some drinks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter borrows its namesake from a Catherine Feeny song by the same name. Its always reminded me of Femshep / Garrus. 
> 
> [Catherine Feeny - Mr. Blue](https://youtu.be/E5V7nfZEhMs)   
> 


	8. Leliana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude from Leliana's point of view.

Leliana reviewed the Herald’s reports from the Storm Coast once more before she stepped into the war room. The Iron Bull and his mercenary group seemed as though they would be a valuable addition to the Inquisition, though she was admittedly concerned about inviting in a Ben-Hassrath agent with open arms. She hoped that it would be beneficial, but recognized that he would need to be watched closely. The Iron Bull would expect that, no doubt, and understand.  
  
Cullen was slumped over the map when she walked in, one hand pressed up against his temple. It was easy enough to discern that he was in the midst of a headache, though she knew that he would say nothing of it. Cassandra was the only person whom he had openly told that he had discontinued his use of lyrium, but the signs were simple enough to spot.   
  
“Good morning Commander,” she said cheerily as she approached the map.   
  
Cullen merely nodded in acknowledgement while he continued to study the map.   
  
“Ah, Leliana, you've arrived,” Josephine said as she came into the room. She was happily scratching away at her clipboard as she kicked the door closed with her foot. “We are to expect the Herald soon, yes?”  
  
“They should arrive here tomorrow, if their ride back has continued to be favourable. It seems as though a lot was accomplished on the coast. I look forward to seeing the Bull’s Chargers in person, and I hope that the Blades of Hessarion will be useful agents.”  
  
“Fanatics, the lot of them,” Cullen said finally. “Are we sure the Blades will heed our orders?”  
  
“Oh Cullen, you worry too much. Some call the Inquisition fanatics you know,” Leliana replied. “The Blades respect the Herald’s authority as the chosen of Andraste, and their former leader was bested in combat. I think they will remain loyal.”  
  
Josephine quirked an eyebrow at Leliana as she motioned her head toward Cullen, who was still staring at the map. “I understand that the Lady Shepard played no small role in that altercation. The Herald had more than a few words to say about combat performance.”  
  
“She is a well-trained soldier,” Cullen said, taking his attention from the map. Leliana watched as he gripped the pommel of his sword, his other hand moving to rub at the back of his neck. “Do you think the Herald will expect to take her out more regularly?”   
  
“I should not be surprised, if she is as skilled as he said. Though she is still not comfortable with daggers, it would seem. The Herald is not convinced of her confidence with them, and I am worried about her resorting to the use of her abilities where they might be openly seen. I will advise him to take out some of his newer recruits in the coming weeks in order to test their abilities,” Leliana said.   
  
She eyed Cullen carefully as she said this, watching as his body seemed to lose some tension. Leliana had noticed that the Commanders had been spending quite a bit of time together during Shepard’s first weeks with the Inquisition. It was unsurprising, and seemed to support Shepard’s claims that she was indeed military personnel. Leliana worried about the ease with which Cullen appeared to trust Shepard. There were still too many variables surrounding the strange woman’s appearance for Leliana to be fully at ease with her presence. She had been thrown into the path of the Inquisition, rather than choosing it for herself, which did not necessarily endear them to her loyalty. Leliana’s agents had found no further information about Shepard anywhere, and reports from those present at the Breach, as well as Leliana’s own presence there, confirmed that Shepard had fallen through it. If the story of her being misplaced from another world was true, it seemed Shepard had little to lose.   
  
“There has been some talk regarding Lady Shepard heard around the barracks,” Josephine said. “The soldiers respect her skill and knowledge, but stories of her appearance at the Breach have begun to circulate. I am concerned that they will spread.”  
  
“I agree,” Cullen said. “Sister Leliana, would you be able to assist with this?”  
  
Leliana nodded. They only needed a few well-placed rumours of Shepard’s origins. It would not be helpful to have a competition over the position of Andraste’s chosen, should the word of Shepard’s appearance continue to grow, and the knowledge of her special abilities to get out.   
  
“I will see it taken care of.”  
  
Cullen breathed a sigh of relief, which Leliana took particular note of.   
  
“Are there any other concerns to address before the Herald’s party returns?” she asked.   
  
Josephine began a review of the state of diplomatic affairs before Cullen provided an update on the recruits and training. The meeting concluded shortly after, and the Commander quickly exited the room.  
  
Josephine put her clipboard down onto the table and placed her hands on her hips. “Is he really going to continue pretending that we do not know he is in pain? I do not think I can bear to see him suffer these headaches silently.”  
  
“You are so sweet Josie, but Cullen will tell us in his own time. You know how he can be when he puts his mind to something.”  
  
Josephine nodded and began stretching out her arms. “Have you given any thought to what to do about our other Commander?”  
  
Leliana shook her head. It was good to know that she had such a good friend and ally in Josephine.   
  
“It vexes me, Josie. I do not know what to make of her. I worry that she has so much of Cullen’s attention as well. I look forward to hearing what Cassandra makes of her after spending so much time on the road together.”  
  
 “I will let you know what I hear as well. Though I have to say that she does seem to be what she appears, though I wish we knew more of her world. I am not quite sure what role she will have to play in all of this.”  
  
“Well Josie,” Leliana laughed, “If there is some sort of political gain to be made with her presence, I am sure that you will discern what it is. Come, let us have a drink of wine in your office.”  
  
The two women appeared to be deeply engrossed in a discussion of the Inquisition’s allies in Val Royeaux as they walked across the hallway to Josephine’s office, a facade which quickly fell away as they shut the door behind them.


	9. Headaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard finds some common ground in the Inquisition.

Shepard could kill for a shower right now. She found herself wishing that she had had more of a background in engineering just so that she could find a way to build one. Her legs were aching from being in a saddle and she smelled terrible from travelling. What she wouldn’t give for a bottle of proper shampoo. The thought of Jack calling her a girl scout tripped across her mind and she couldn’t help but laugh.  
  
“Are you well?” Cassandra asked, stopping beside her.  
  
They dismounted outside of Haven’s gates so that Dennet and his hands could care for the horses.  
  
“I was just thinking of a bath,” Shepard said.  
  
Cassandra nodded approvingly. Being out on the road was a tiring business for everyone.  
  
Varric was walking trough the gates as he called behind him, “Wicked Grace in the tavern tonight! I hope to see smiling faces and full purses!”  
  
Cassandra scoffed and Shepard could not help but laugh.  
  
“Something is funny?” Cassandra said, scowling. Shepard could see how the average person would be quite intimidated by this impressive warrior woman, but Shepard herself was known to have quite a commanding presence.  
  
“What’s your deal with Varric?”  
  
“ _Deal?_ ” Cassandra repeated, rolling the word over her tongue.  
  
Shepard laughed at this. “Yeah, you know, I’m just not sold on that that whole ‘we hate each other’ vibe.”  
  
Cassandra’s brows furrowed, her scowl deepening. “I despise that dwarf. He is a lying scoundrel!”  
  
“Also a charming rogue, but whatever floats your boat Cassandra,” Shepard said, wiggling her eyebrows at the Seeker.  
  
“I do not understand you,” she said before marching in the direction of the Chantry.  
  
Shepard was still standing in front of the gates to Haven and she took a moment to look toward the barracks, noticing that Cullen was surprisingly absent. Turning in the other direction she saw the Iron Bull standing with his lieutenant, Krem, staring directly at her. Shepard understood that kind of predatory gaze and immediately recognized that the Iron Bull was sizing her up. She wasn’t one to beat around the bush.  
  
“Like what you see, Gentlemen?” she said, approaching the mercs. She stood in front of the Iron Bull and levelled eye contact with him.  
“I am a fan of redheads,” Iron Bull responded. His booming voice and muscular chest reminded Shepard of Vega.  
  
“I know you’ve been keeping an eye on me since the Storm Coast. Are we going to have a problem?”  
  
The Iron Bull laughed, stepping closer to her. Shepard recognized the tactic. He had at least two feet of height on her, but she was far from intimidated. She had head butted Krogan, after all.  
  
“No problem. Just trying to figure you out, Shepard. You’re not from around here.”  
  
Shepard rolled her eyes.  
  
“That’s fairly obvious. I thought you were some kind of spy or something? That’s got to be some of the worst intel I’ve ever heard,” she said, crossing her arms.  
  
Krem let out a booming laugh. “She’s got you there, Chief.”  
  
The Iron Bull nodded at Shepard before she turned to head for her cabin.  
  
Considering she had spent most of the past three years wishing that no one knew who she was, it was an odd revelation to think that some part of her actually enjoyed the infamy of being Commander Shepard. She had been so stuck on that thought that she did not immediately notice Solas leaning against the door of her cabin.  
  
“Commander Shepard?” he said, repeating himself to get her attention.  
  
“Sorry—gone to Bermuda, I guess.”  
  
The elf raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  
  
“What can I do for you, Solas?” she said, walking into her cabin.  
  
The motion of it, the words, struck her as achingly familiar, although the setting was entirely foreign. In an instant she could imagine herself speaking to any one of her crew members as she entered the quarters on the upper deck of the Normandy, before the sight of wooden walls and simple furniture snapped her back to reality.  
  
Shepard sighed as she sat down on the bed, and noticed a large copper tub steaming in the corner. Small mercies, she thought.  
  
“I have some news about your situation,” Solas said.  
  
Shepard felt her heartbeat speed up before he quickly continued.  
  
“It is not something you’ll want to hear, I’m afraid. I have been exploring the fade and I have found nothing that suggests a link to your world or to your companions. Your own memories and dreams play out as would those of any other living person in Thedas, and I sense no strange connections surrounding you.”  
“What does that mean?” Shepard said, chest constricting.  
  
Solas gave her a pitying look. “Short of jumping back through the Breach and hoping to end up where you want to, I am afraid that you do not have many options. We need something that will direct you to where you wish to go, and we will also need to create some kind of reaction that corresponds to the Breach. I believe the only chance we might have is when the Herald attempts to close the Breach. I will do my best to keep looking and researching, but I do not want to give you false hope.”  
  
Shepard nodded wordlessly.  
  
Considering she had gone into the Crucible expecting her own death, perhaps this was a more positive outcome? She had been trying to take the idea that this was purgatory off the table, but maybe this was in fact her own personal hell. The thoughts went around in circles in her mind.  
  
She realized that Solas was kneeling on the floor before her, his sharp, perceptive eyes searching her own.  
  
“For what it is worth Shepard,  I believe that you are truly here. That you are alive. You and I have something in common, being surrounded by things and people that are so unfamiliar to us. But I think that we can be allies to one another—keep each other grounded, perhaps?”  
  
Shepard listened to his words carefully, turning them over in her mind. She always trusted her gut, and it was telling her that there was definitely more to Solas.  
  
“Might I recommend that we keep this between us, for now?” he said. “I shall not involve anyone else unless you ask me to, though I would advise you to keep this close. No need to draw unwanted attention.”  
  
“I’m guessing that there’s a bit more to you than meets the eye, eh?” Shepard said.  
  
“I am but a humble apostate,” he said with a smirk.  
  
“And I’m a pyjak’s uncle.”  
  
Solas laughed. “I will leave you to your cabin, Shepard.”  
  
She bolted the door behind him, stripped off her clothing and slipped into the tub. Shepard let the tension slide from her muscles as she relaxed down into the water, but her mind was far from calm as Solas' words settled in.  
  
She did, for the briefest of moments, try and determine a way to catapult herself into the Breach before she had to laugh it off. It was a ridiculous notion, and it wasn’t even as though entering the breach was guaranteed to work. Shepard found herself thinking about calling out to EDI to run some statistics on her chances, but her voice caught in her throat when she realized that she wasn’t even sure if EDI had survived the crucible’s destruction.  
  
Her cybernetics seemed to be working just fine, despite what the catalyst had said, so maybe it was worth hoping that it had lied about EDI and the geth as well. Shepard couldn’t even be sure of what had happened to her squad after she had fired the Crucible. They had all been aboard the Normandy, but there was no way to determine what its final position had be before the blast. Though, if she trusted anyone to get the old girl out of a tight spot like that, it was Joker.  
  
_Joker_ —Shepard’s stomach clenched at the thought of EDI powering down right beside him. The pilot would be absolutely devastated. She shook her head, trying to drive the thoughts from her mind. She couldn’t be sure of any of the results. She would never even know for sure if the Reapers had truly been destroyed—she could only hope that they had, and wish the best for those who had survived the war. Shepard sunk deeper into the tub and submerged herself under the water. Her chest ached with the heaviness of missing them.  
  
Shepard allowed herself exactly thirty seconds of wallowing this time, and then she finished bathing and dressed. It was later than she had expected when she exited her cabin, and she could hear the raucous noise coming from the tavern already. Deciding that she had had enough of everyone for the moment, Shepard headed out the main gates of Haven and walked around to the eastern part of the lake. During her previous wanderings she had found a dock that had been abandoned since the lake had frozen over. It was a perfect place for stargazing and was blissfully abandoned.  
  
Or, it usually was.  
  
She was surprised to see a large figure standing at the edge of the dock, and as she slowly approached she was relieved to realize that it was Cullen.  
  
“Who goes there?” he said, hearing her approach.  
  
“It’s Shepard,” she called. “I just came for some peace and quiet.”  
  
She noticed that he was rubbing his temples again. “I’m guessing that you were hoping some fresh air would help your headache?”  
  
Cullen quickly turned around to face her and Shepard knew that she had hit a nerve the instant that she had said something.  
  
“Who told you about my headaches? What else did they tell you?” he said angrily, crossing his arms over his chest. The snarl that he made caused her to notice the scar that cut across his mouth, taught with frustration.  
  
“No one told me anything. You’d have to be an idiot not to notice them,” she said firmly. She saw him relax a bit in surprise, but pushed on. “I’m guessing you get migraines. I don’t know why, and I don’t really care. But I’ve seen the symptoms before in one of my former teammates and I do know that you can’t just tough them out. You have to take care of yourself.”  
  
It felt like deja vu for a split second; it was as if she were admonishing Kaidan all over again. Doctor Chawkwas would be proud. Shepard backed off.  
  
“You sound like Cassandra,” Cullen chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
“She’s a smart woman,” Shepard said.  
  
Cullen nodded. “I do appreciate that you noticed them, though I do not want it to worry you,” he said. “I can manage.”  
  
“You’re a good soldier, Cullen. I worry about good soldiers who don’t take care of themselves.”  
  
She paused for a moment, taking a few steps closer to the end of the dock. They were standing beside one another, looking out over the lake.  
  
“How bad are they?” she asked after a few moments. “Have you found a way to help them?”  
  
“There are bad days and worse ones. I don’t sleep as well as I should. Solas makes a brutal cup of tea that I am told is supposed to help, but I can hardly stomach the stuff,” he laughed.  
  
“Where I come from there’s different kinds of pills that would fix you right up. Although Kaidan always said they made him feel foggy, so I doubt you would have been interested in them either.”  
  
“Kaidan is your teammate?” Cullen asked, turning toward her.  
  
Shepard kept staring out at the lake. “He was my teammate. He was killed during a mission a few years ago. I had to choose between him and another member of my crew. He was a damn good soldier.”  
  
Cullen stood silently beside her after that, and Shepard was grateful. She felt like he understood. There were no words, no platitudes you could offer that would ever make someone feel okay with a decision like that. She thought about Kaidan for a while before something caught in her memory.  
  
“I have something that can help,” she exclaimed, and noticed that Cullen jumped a bit beside her. He looked a bit confused. “Something to help your headaches, I mean.”  
  
Cullen curiously raised an eyebrow, but nodded for Shepard to continue.  
  
“You’re a bit taller than me, so I need you to sit down, I think.”  
  
“Is this some kind of joke?” he said, but moved so that he was sitting down.  
  
“Just trust me, alright?” she said as she knelt down behind Cullen.  
  
She moved her thumbs down to the base of his hairline, her forefingers resting along the edges of his jaw, and she felt him inhale sharply.  
  
“Let me know if it hurts, or if you want me to stop,” she said with a quiet voice.  
  
It had been a while since she had done this. Kaidan had taught her the technique back on the SR-1 during one of his most unbearable migraines when he had asked Shepard if she could help him out. Slowly she felt her biotics flare to life in her fingertips, and she held her breath for a few moments as she applied a small amount of pressure to the base of Cullen’s neck. He made a small groan as he leaned his head back into her touch. She began rubbing slow, large circles as she moved farther up his head, and used the tips of her fingers to rub away the tension near his temples.  
  
They sat like that for a while, the sounds of Haven and the Frostbacks settling in as night fell around them. Shepard found herself enjoying the silence and the company, listening to Cullen’s deep, consistent breaths as she continued to work away his migraine.    
  
“Maker, you feel good,” he sighed. Catching himself, his eyes immediately shot open and he pulled away from her. “Er, I mean, that feels good. Well, you know—”  
  
“It helped is what you’re saying?” Shepard said. She couldn’t help but smile as a deep red blush raced across his cheeks. She stood up from the dock and offered him a hand to stand.  
  
“Yes, it definitely helped,” he said, taking her arm as he stood. “Thank you.”  
  
“Anytime,” she said.  
  
They stood silently for a moment, hands grasped on each others forearms. Cullen definitely fit the mould of a soldier, but there was something about him that made Shepard curious to know more. They were kindred spirits, she thought.  
  
“I was wondering—”  
  
“Commander Cullen!” a scout interrupted, running to the end of the dock. “Important report for your review, sir. Lady Leliana has asked for it to be complete before the Herald leaves for Redcliffe tomorrow.”  
  
Cullen turned on the scout. “Of course. And I’m sure she asked for you to find me right away?” he said sharply.  
  
The scout quietly handed him the report.  
  
“Please excuse me Shepard, but it looks like I have some work to attend to,” he said with an apologetic smile.  
  
“It never ends,” Shepard laughed as she walked up the dock and back to Haven. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very big thanks to those still following along, speculating, and commenting. You've been wonderful encouragement, and I hope you're still enjoying moving through this story as much as I am.


	10. Allies

Shepard told herself that she had not been avoiding morning training—or Commander Cullen, for that matter—on purpose. She knew that the Herald intended to close the Breach using the help of a group of mages from Redcliffe, and that her time was limited. Trevelyan had chosen, upon Leliana’s request, to take some of the newer recruits with him, and had set off with Sera, Vivienne, and Blackwall the day after Shepard had had her conversation on the dock with Cullen. She had spent the five days since then reading through a number of books—real, physical books!—which Solas had recommended, most of which were about the fade and the nature of magic. Shepard wanted to get as much information as she could in the hopes that she and Solas would be able to create a plausible plan to send her back home.  
  
 _Home._   
  
The word hung in the air in front of her, an ethereal image of a place which she imagined existing anywhere but here. She tried to focus on it, but the harder she tried to pin it down, the more elusive it became.   
  
Earth had never really been home, and she wasn’t entirely sure of anything that drew her toward the Sol system, aside from Alliance headquarters and operations. The Citadel had only ever been a stopping point, and now Shepard imagined that it was a ruin. The one image that she could hold onto was the Normandy, with her odd menagerie of a crew, and the ability to go anywhere that they wanted. That was her family, her home.  
  
A current of thoughts carried her away before she could swim against them, and the vision of the Normandy as she had known it was washed away. The fight against the Reapers was the thing that bound them all together, and now that they had been destroyed there was nothing to guarantee that her home would remain in tact. There would be a mass exodus, certainly: Wrex and Grunt would return to Tuchanka; Tali needed to return to Rannoch and the Quarian people; Garrus might go back to Palaven and take up his proper position within the Hierarchy; Liara could continue as the elusive Shadow Broker; Ashley, Vega, Cortez, Joker—they could all be reassigned throughout the Alliance.   
  
Home was not a place for Shepard, but a group of people. It was all of them, in it together. It was that very specific feeling of being a part of something bigger than themselves. Her home would slowly come apart in front of her, piece by piece. Shepard would be able to see them, sporadically, and to keep in touch with them regularly, but it would not be the same. Each member of her team had something else waiting for them, things that had been set aside for the Reaper War. Shepard had not set anything aside, had nothing else waiting for her.   
  
There was no guarantee that Shepard could even keep the Normandy under her command as a Spectre, and she had no idea how they would reconcile her allegiance to the Earth Systems Alliance and the Council Spectres. She would be up to the mercy of their discretion. In some way it was as though the defeat of the Reapers had made her irrelevant, obsolete. she had been the one Shepard briefly wondered if this was how Javik felt, so deeply embedded in his fight that he woke from a long battle slumber to discover that there was nothing left for him except his enemy’s defeat.   
 The three years that Shepard had spent on the Normandy were an untranslatable experience. That understanding of home was an irrevocable series of conditions, and the loss of it was a heartsickness from which she could not imagine herself recovering.  
  
“Are you alright?”   
  
Cassandra had approached so quietly that Shepard had not realized that she was there until she had spoken. Shepard wondered how she must look, sulking in a secluded corner of the Chantry surrounded by piles of books. The book that she had been reading had fallen between her feet, splayed open in its neglect while Shepard was absorbed in her own melancholy.   
  
“I’m not sure,” she answered earnestly.   
  
Cassandra knelt down, her eyes glancing over the stacks of books.   
  
“I assume that you are not doing this reading for your own leisure?” she asked.   
  
Shepard shrugged. “Magic is interesting. I am trying to learn as much about it as I can.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
Cassandra had an imposing presence, but Shepard wondered how much of that had been carefully constructed around her. She sensed that she and Cassandra were alike in that regard.   
  
“Is there something you need, Seeker?”  
  
“Ugh—please do not call me by my title like that. You sound like Varric. As you have asked that I call you Shepard, I will ask that you call me Cassandra.”  
  
Shepard nodded. “Alright, Cassandra, is there something you need?”  
  
The dark haired woman began fidgeting then, adjusting her gloves and her sword belt. Shepard waited patiently for her to speak.   
  
“We do not know anything about the world which you claim to come from. It makes me nervous that we do not understand your motivations,” she said finally.   
  
“I respect your honesty. So I’m going to level with you. I don’t know enough about you, the Inquisition, your world, to have any motivations other than wanting to go home.”  
  
“Would you take a walk with me, Shepard?” Cassandra said.   
  
Shepard wordlessly stood up and rolled her shoulders before following the Seeker out of the Chantry.   
  
“You were a soldier?” Cassandra asked.   
  
“Yes,” Shepard said. They walked slowly, taking the long way through Haven. Cassandra was quiet, giving Shepard space to formulate her thoughts.   
  
“Being a soldier defined everything that I did. Everything that I was. It sustained me, but it also consumed me. Being here has made me realize that.”  
  
Cassandra nodded, making a humming noise to affirm that she was listening. The two women walked in step with one another as they approached the gates of Haven, heading toward the training area.  
  
“I am a Seeker of Truth. I was the Right Hand of the Divine, and now I serve the Inquisition. Sometimes I worry that I am nothing more than my role, a weapon forged to be used,” Cassandra said.   
  
Shepard recognized that the two of them were not so dissimilar. A  small part of her wanted to tell Cassandra to learn to be a little bit selfish. She wanted to tell her told hold on to something solid and just for her; to build a home inside herself, one that could not be dismantled or taken away. She buried the thought.   
  
Instead she said, “I know that you are trying to fulfill a mission with this Inquisition. I want you to know that I am not trying to interfere. I only want to go home, and until then I will do all that I can to support the Inquisition in exchange for your hospitality.”  
  
“Thank you,” Cassandra said, unsheathing her sword near the training dummies.   
  
Shepard found herself looking across the tents to the place where Cullen could usually be found with the recruits. She saw him talking to a few scouts, reviewing more reports.   
  
“You are avoiding him,” Cassandra said, noticing Shepard’s wandering gaze. It was not a question.   
  
Snapping her attention back to Cassandra, Shepard defensively replied, “I am not.”  
  
The Seeker began to attack the training dummy with her sword. “Rumours have been circulating around the barracks about seeing the two of you embracing near the lake nearly a week ago. I have not seen you in the training yard since then. Is that merely a curious coincidence?”   
  
“We weren’t embracing!” Shepard exclaimed. A few recruits training nearby stopped what they were doing to stare at the two women standing by the dummies. The corner of Cassandra’s mouth titled into a smirk. Shepard scolded herself for taking the bait. No doubt the scout that had interrupted them thought that he would stir up some gossip to keep folks entertained.    
  
“We were just talking. I was trying to help with his headaches, and I’m sure the scout saw what he wanted to see, rather than what was actually happening. There was no embracing,” Shepard clarified.  
  
She noticed Cassandra’s distinct look of surprise at the mention of Cullen’s headaches. They had been immediately obvious to Shepard; surely other people had noticed them as well. Perhaps Cassandra hadn’t?  
  
“He told you about his headaches?” Cassandra asked carefully.  
  
Shepard tilted her head, confused as to why Cassandra was treating this like a secret. “I asked about them and he confirmed my suspicion. I thought I had something to offer that might help. We stayed on the dock for a while and a scout interrupted us. I’m sure he thought he was spreading a scandalous tale, but there isn’t any substance to it,” Shepard said.  
  
Cassandra’s brow furrowed in thought.  
  
“Why were you concerned about it?” Shepard asked. “My supposed avoidance of Commander Cullen, I mean.”  
  
“He is a good man, and the past few years have been difficult for him,” Cassandra said matter-of-factly. “I would not see him toyed with.”  
  
Shepard caught the implied warning. The Seeker didn’t pull any punches and Shepard decided that she respected that about her.  
  
“Gotcha. Well, nothing to worry about here then.”  
  
Shepard felt that Cullen could relate to where she was coming from, and the two Commanders seemed to have an implicit understanding of one another. There was no denying that he was a handsome man, and Shepard knew that they could easily become friends. But if there was anything that she had learned throughout her experience with the Alliance and the Reapers, it was that the mission always came first. Right now her mission was to get back to where she came from, and any attachments that she built here would only hinder that mission.  
  
“Good,” Cassandra said. She turned away from Shepard and threw herself fully into attacking the training dummy.  
  
Shepard turned to make her way back into Haven proper, her gaze drifting in Cullen’s direction. She noticed him looking at her from across the training yard, but she decided not to walk over and speak to him. She offered him a small smile and a wave instead. There was not need to add fuel to the gossip fire. Instead she decided to seek out Solas to see if he had made any progress in his research.   
  
Shepard found Solas reading in his small cabin near the Chantry, his door open.   
  
“Please come in,” he said as he heard her approach. “Have you been enjoying the books that I recommended?”  
  
“They’re interesting, I guess, but I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for,” she said, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. “I wanted to see if you had made any further progress.”  
  
Solas nodded, but remained quiet, and Shepard could tell that he was mulling something over. She took a moment to study the elf, noticing that he had the carefully maintained appearance of someone who wanted to blend in. His clothes were simple and plain, and he did not have anything prominently displayed on his body, such as piercings or tattoos. Or hair, for that matter. The fact that he was bald seemed to be a defining feature on its own, but it also meant that it was likely that no one could tell you what his actual hair colour was. This was the kind of person who wanted to avoid detection.  
  
Shepard had this gut feeling that Solas had his own motivations for being with the Inquisition, but she was still trying to feel it out. After all, why was he of all people going to such great lengths to help send her home? He had been able to see her world and her memories through her dreams, but it wasn’t as though that should have been a compelling enough argument. Why keep this such a secret from other members of the Inquisition? Shepard wasn’t one to turn down help, and she was no stranger to ulterior motives, but she didn’t like being kept in the dark either.   
  
“What do you get out of all of this? Helping me, I mean,” she asked.  
  
He paused for a moment before answering. “It has been interesting to see your world through your dreams in the fade, and I find your abilities fascinating. But you do not belong here, and I would see you returned to where you truly do.”  
  
Shepard narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing his features. He wasn’t lying, though that didn’t necessarily mean he was telling the truth.   
  
“You’re trying to tell me that this is all out of the goodness of your heart because I’m interesting? Now there’s a good one,” she said dryly.   
  
“Believe what you will, Shepard. You and I are not so different. I know what it means to wake up in a world to which you do not belong, to long for a different time or place,” he said sadly. She knew that he was being honest, if a bit vague.   
  
“Best not to dwell on that,” he said after she did not respond. “Now, I believe that I may have determined something to assist us. I need you to tell me everything that you can about your biotics.”  
  
“My biotics? Why?”  
  
“I think we need to cause an explosion.”


	11. In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and the Herald discover that they have more in common than they thought.

Trevelyan and his party had been gone for nearly a month by the time they had returned to Haven. Shepard had painstakingly waited twenty-six days to find out what would happen with the Redcliffe mages. She and Solas had met only a handful of times in order to discuss and test their plan. He was insistent that things should continue as normal in order to avoid detection, encouraging Shepard to take up her regular morning training with Commander Cullen and the Inquisition soldiers. She had done this reluctantly, turning up at training without a word to Cullen the morning after her first conversation with Solas. At first Cullen did not seem to engage with Shepard too much, but about a week after she had gotten back into the regular morning routine he had addressed her in a manner that suggested things were back to normal.  
  
Neither of them said anything about his headaches, or that night on the dock. Shepard wondered if Cullen thought she felt uncomfortable, or perhaps he was the one feeling awkward about things. Shepard couldn’t bring herself to ask him. Initially there had been some gossip about the two Commanders floating around Haven, but it quickly died down when nothing further happened. Outside of morning training she avoided Cullen as much as possible.  
  
Shepard knew that the plan that Solas had put together was her best option for going home, but the secrecy of the entire thing sat heavily in the pit of her stomach. Shepard wanted desperately to go home. More than anything she hoped to return to find her crew together on the Normandy, waiting for to find them. She knew it was foolish, as well as very unlikely, but she was willing to act on even the smallest chance of getting back to where she belonged.  
  
The entire plan hinged on the moment that the Herald attempted to close the Breach, so she had waited restlessly for him to return from Redcliffe. To fill time aside from morning training, Shepard had found herself taking long walks around having, seeking out secluded spots to practice her biotics. Solas seemed to think that they would need to create a large confluence of energy at the Breach, and the only thing that Shepard could think of was some kind of biotic power detonation. With her training as an Adept she had never really trained in tactics like Novas or Charges, but she hoped that she understood enough of the theory to be able to execute them in practice.  
  
She was very careful, knowing that Leliana’s people were likely watching her closely, so she tried to take a walk every day and practiced biotics intermittently. Most of her time in Haven was spent reading, or sitting quietly with various members of the Herald’s inner circle. It was painfully superficial, but Shepard knew that it would be easier to leave if she could avoid meaningful connections. She was visible and present enough to avoid unwanted suspicion, but stayed focused on her personal mission.  
  
Shepard was wrought with tension the day that Trevelyan was set to arrive back in Skyhold. Her mind was elsewhere, travelling millions of miles away from itself during morning training. She was shocked back to the present when she missed a sparring block and Cullen’s shield sent her flying backwards, landing flat in the dirt.  
  
“Maker’s breath Shepard, are you alright?” he said with concern as he offered her a hand up.  
  
“I’m fine—you just caught me a bit off guard,” she said, raising her daggers again. She shook it off as best she could. She just needed to hold out a bit longer.  
  
Cullen gave her a skeptical look, and she knew that he was taking it easy on her during the rest of their match. They were in the middle of putting away their equipment when they heard a crowd gathering at the gates. The Herald and his party returned from Redcliffe, accompanied by a large convoy of mages. Shepard heard Cullen groan beside her. He had been vocally skeptical of the mage plan all along, and she knew that he wasn’t looking forward to hosting a group of them at Haven. She had been reading much more about the templar and mage conflict in the past few weeks and was starting to understand a bit of the political climate that she found herself in.  
  
“I’m sure it will be alright,” she offered. Cullen remained silent as they watched the party dismount.  
  
She noticed that Sera, Iron Bull, and Vivienne departed quickly, no doubt pleased to have some down time. The Herald did not look as eager, however, and Shepard noticed that he seemed quite worn down. There were dark shadows under his eyes and he lacked his usual gregarious attitude. There was another man with him as well: a well manicured mage with a particularly large moustache. Shepard wondered if he was with the contingent from Redcliffe.  
  
“They’ll be calling a war council immediately, I’m sure,” Cullen said. “I should go.”  
  
Shepard waved him off with a laugh. She realized it was one of the first real laughs she had had in a few weeks.  
  
With everyone occupied with the Herald for an hour or two, Shepard decided to sneak off to practice some more. She would need to be ready for the Breach.  
  
  
  
Shepard was returning though the eastern outskirts of Haven, passing by the empty cabin near the edge of woods when she heard a thunderous crash from inside. It sat empty most of the time; she had been told that it was previously occupied by someone named Taigen but was now used for hunting supplies. She approached the front of the building slowly as the crashes continued, accompanied by loud cursing. Instinctively she put up a biotic barrier before she pushed her way in through the front door.  
  
She found Trevelyan standing in the middle of the room surrounded by some broken barrels and an overturned bookcase. He was breathing heavily as he turned around to see who had entered the cabin.  
  
“What!” he yelled. “What in the Maker’s bloody name could they want now?”  
  
Shepard withdrew her barrier before she spoke. “I’m not the messenger, so please don’t shoot me.”  
  
This seemed to diffuse him a bit, if only because he didn’t quite understand what she meant. She took this as an opening and continued speaking.   
“I was just taking a walk and I was headed back to Haven when I heard the commotion. I just came in to make sure everything was alright, so I can head right back out and leave you to it.”  
  
Trevelyan sighed, the anger ebbing away. He rubbed his hands over his face. “I apologize, my lady. I am fine. Please do go ahead to Haven while I clean up this mess,” he said, bending to pick up debris from the floor.  
  
Shepard knew that he was the opposite of fine. How many times had she said the same thing to any given member of her crew during the last few months of the Reaper War? Telling someone you are fine in that way almost certainly means that you are not.  
  
She began to silently clean up alongside Trevelyan. They had nearly finished putting things back in order when she finally spoke.  
  
“It isn’t easy, is it? Being the shoulders that absolutely everything rests on.”  
  
It must not been what he expected her to say because he looked over at her in surprise. He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed her. She knew the stance well, as well as the discerning thoughts he was probably having right now about confiding in her.  
  
“No, it is not,” he said slowly, sinking down to sit on the floor with his back against the wall. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the stone.  
  
Shepard found herself leaning against a wall just across from him. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
He barked out an empty laugh. “Shall I feel sorry for myself, or for this mark? I could be dead right now.”  
  
“You could be. Doesn’t mean you have to be happy about that mark on your hand, or the fact that they’re asking you to use it to fix the sky,” she retorted.  
  
“They have very high expectations,” he said.  
  
She nodded. “They always do.”  
  
It was at that moment that she could feel a kind of mutual understanding seemed to blossom between them. Shepard knew that they were not so different, though she had all the pessimism of experience to tell her that they were going to ask far more from this man than he might want to give. She wasn’t sure what she should say to him.  
  
“Redcliffe was a nightmare,” he said finally, opening his eyes to look at her. “A Tevinter magister was dabbling with highly volatile and unknown magic, and we saw a glimpse of the future: what should happen we fail. If I fail. It was horrifying.”  
  
Shepard tried not to think of the vision from the Prothean beacon, but the images easily came flooding back to her. They had both been marked, in their own ways.    
  
“All you can do is try,” she said finally. “Just don’t let it consume you. There is more to you than that mark, and there is certainly more to you than being just the Herald of Andraste.”  
  
“It’s a pretty important title, you know,” he joked, giving her a small smile.  
  
“I don’t know what’s going to happen in all of this, but I can tell you that you can’t let it be the only thing that you have. They’re going to push you to the edge and just keep demanding things from you. You don’t have to give in to it. Do it on your own terms.”  
  
He stood up from the floor, brushing himself off before moving closer to her. His face was unreadable, though he studied hers carefully.  
  
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.  
  
“I learned all of my lessons too late,” she whispered.  
  
She wasn’t sure how it happened exactly, but Trevelyan pulled her to his chest and she found her head buried in the crook of his neck as he held her there. It was not that the gesture held any particular warmth, but was meant as an acknowledgement of their shared position. Shepard imagined them as parallel lines, inherently knowing that they travelled similar paths in separate spaces. She pulled away, wiping at her cheeks.  
  
“Thanks, Hera—um, Trevelyan?” she said sheepishly.  
  
“Maxwell,” he said, smiling.  
  
“Thanks Maxwell.”  
  
He was looking at her expectantly. He wanted to know her first name, she realized. It had been a long time since she felt that it had served a purpose.  
  
“It’s just Shepard,” she said.  
  
He nodded, silently motioning toward the door of the cabin. They started their walk back into Haven slowly.  
  
“We have decided to close the Breach tomorrow,” Trevelyan said.  
  
Shepard tensed as she tried to keep her voice calm and even. “So soon?” she asked.  
  
“The advisors think it best to act quickly. The mages are prepared, and everything else can wait until after the Breach is sealed,” he said. Then more sarcastically he added, “Besides, Solas is fairly certain it won’t kill me. Might as well get it over with.”  
  
Shepard forced out a laugh despite the distinct feeling of dread that was seeping through her skin. She didn’t know if she was ready for this, or if there was anything else Solas needed to do. first. She wondered if they would even have time to meet tonight and touch base about their plan.  
Most of the inner circle was seated and eating dinner by the time they had reached the Chantry dining room.  
  
Varric gave a low whistle when the entered and loudly asked, “And where might the two of you been all afternoon?”  
  
“Now Varric, please tell me you aren’t interested in salacious gossip?” Trevelyan joked as he sat down.  
  
“C’mon T, you’ve gotta give me something to work with here,” Varric said.  
  
“Varric Tethras, you wound me. I am the picture of a gentleman!”  
  
Shepard was glad that he had deflected. She felt herself blushing as she thought about the fact that she had cried all over the man not even an hour ago.  
  
“I’ll spare Shepard the embarrassment and we can move on to polite dinner conversation.”  
  
Shepard rolled her eyes at Varric before glancing down the table to see Cullen determinedly staring down at a plate of untouched food.  
  
She told herself not to worry about why he was upset, or wonder if he had another one of his terrible headaches. She tried equally hard not to listen to the banter floating around the table, and forced herself to stay out of the jovial conversation. There was no need to get involved when she was so close to going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Thoughts/comments/criticism always appreciated.


	12. In Your Heart Shall Burn

Shepard hardly slept that night. The deceptive nature of the entire plan was eating away at her conscience. She wanted to go home more than anything else, but a part of her knew that Solas must have some kind of motive for his secrecy. Her mind had walked through the circular argument over and over again, the pros and cons laying themselves out plainly.  
  
When she had gotten out of bed she had decided to stick to the initial plan. There was no need to go outside of mission parameters unless absolutely necessary; she could make a decision for herself once she was at the Breach. Solas had worried about finding a way to include Shepard in the trip up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but had not had much luck thinking of a plausible reason. Luckily the Herald himself had asked Shepard after dinner the previous evening if she would be willing to assist the party and she had readily accepted.  
  
The sun was barely peeking out from behind the mountains by the time she had dressed and geared up, so Shepard decided to the opportunity to watch it rise. She walked out to the dock that had become a regular feature of her time in Haven. The air was so still and quiet that she closed her eyes and for a moment imagined that she was back on the Normandy and sitting in the near-silent observation deck. She let out a deep breath and reminded herself that she could be back there very soon if everything went according to plan. She opened her eyes and took in the rising sun for what would be the last time.  
  
“Room for one more?” Cullen asked as he quietly approached the dock.  
  
“Of course,” she responded quietly.  
  
Cullen stood silently beside her, and Shepard thought of the last time that they had been out here together. She had tried to avoid spending time with him after that, recognizing that he was someone that she could easily see herself being friends with. It was a dangerously comfortable thought.  
  
She heard Cullen clear his throat and turned to meet his gaze. He was rubbing the back of his neck and looked nervous.  
  
“I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. That is, you and the Herald. I didn’t realize—I mean, I don’t want you to think that I was trying to behave inappropriately,” he rambled.  
  
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at Cullen.”  
  
He cleared his throat again. “Right. What I mean to say is that I did not know that you and the Herald were involved, and I did not want him to think that I had done anything untoward.”  
  
Shepard could hardly contain her surprise at his statement.  
  
“We are not involved,” she said.  
  
“You’re not?”   
  
“No! Definitely not,” she said. “And I don’t think I could even imagine you doing anything ‘untoward’,” she added, laughing.  
  
He could look at Shepard with visible embarrassment. “It’s just that after what Varric said yesterday, and  that you and the Herald had spent time together I assumed—well, the Herald is a handsome man, and a noble at that—Maker’s breath I am an idiot,” he said.  
  
“Well I can appreciate that you were trying to be decent about it,” Shepard said.  
  
“Right, well, now that we’ve gotten that over with,” he laughed, putting his hand back on the pommel of his sword.  
  
“Are you coming up to the Breach with us this afternoon?” Shepard asked, looking for a way to change the subject.  
  
Cullen shook his head. “No, Seeker Cassandra and Solas will be leading the mages. The party will be heading out shortly. I understand that you are to be present as well?”  
  
Shepard nodded but didn’t immediately say anything. This would be a one way ticket. She thought of Cullen, the one person that had immediately given her the benefit of the doubt, and felt a bit sad. She tried to push that feeling away as quickly as it had come but something about the sentiment made her pause.  
  
“Cullen,” she said, “I just wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done. For me, I mean. You’re a good man, and a great soldier. The Inquisition is lucky to have you.”  
  
Before he could say anything she pressed a kiss to his cheek and swiftly turned to walk down the dock. For the briefest of moments, this goodbye reminded her of the one in London. She wondered if Cullen had even realized that it was a goodbye, short and final. She shook off the thought and met up with the Herald’s party just outside the gates of Haven.    
  
Trevelyan was checking his pack while Varric and Cassandra bickered a few feet away from him. Shepard didn’t see Solas, which made her a bit nervous. She tried to stop her stomach from fluttering.  
  
“The moment of truth is here,” Trevelyan said as she approached. “I hope this works.”  
  
“Me too,” she said solemnly.  
  
“Come now Shepard, not to worry. We can do this,” he said, smiling.  
  
The knots in her stomach wound themselves tighter. “Of course.”  
  
Varric approached the two of them with Cassandra following closely behind him. The dwarf was grinning from ear to ear and the Seeker looked mildly annoyed.  
  
“We gonna hit the road, T?” Varric asked.  
  
Shepard paused for a moment before asking, “I thought Solas was joining us?”  
“He is accompanying the mages. They will be there when we arrive,” Cassandra replied.  
  
Shepard nodded. It seemed that she and Solas would not get a chance to speak at all. She would stick to the parameters of their plan, but she hoped that there would be no need for any further instructions. If so, she’d have to wing it.  
 Shepard tuned out the group’s conversation for the entire walk up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She had been nervous the night before London, but it hadn’t been like this. This felt different in a way that she couldn’t quite describe. Shepard had not always been good at being patient, and she felt as though the past couple of months had been absolute torture. She had been waiting for this moment for so long that she could not believe it was finally upon her. The three years she had spent chasing the Reapers felt like a constant sprint, constantly putting one foot in front of the other, amped up on adrenaline. This felt felt like a marathon that was slowly and steadily coming to an end.  
  
Solas was present with the mages when they arrived at the Breach. Shepard was taken in by the size of it. The glowing green rift was ominous from afar, but it was entirely overwhelming when standing beneath it. Cassandra and Trevelyan went to speak with Solas for a few moments, no doubt giving instructions. Shepard went over her personal instructions in her head once more. When the Seeker and the Herald turned back toward the Breach, Shepard took the opportunity to look at Solas. He met her eyes and gave her a small nod. She returned the gesture, affirming that she would go through with what they had planned.  
   
Shepard spared a glance at Trevelyan as well, who was determinedly staring ahead of him to the energy underneath the Breach. Solas had given her a run down of how things should play out with the mages, and she knew that she needed to time things just right.  
  
“Mages!” Cassandra addressed the group.  
  
“Focus past the Herald! Let his will draw from you.”  
  
This was her cue. She saw Trevelyan move forward, arm extended. It was now or never.  
  
Shepard closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she channelled her biotic energy. She opened her eyes and focused on the waves of green emanating from the Breach. The veil was thin here, Solas had said. If her biotic energy could impact it forcefully enough it could cause a confluence of energy like the one she had experienced on the Crucible.  
  
Trevelyan’s mark began to glow, energy spilling from his hand. Shepard saw the space in front of her pulsing and she tried to focus her thoughts as Solas had said. She had decided to think about Liara, one of her closest friends, because she had mind melded with her when they were first chasing after Saren. They had an inherent connection to one another, and she had hoped that it would be enough to send her home. Shepard used her biotics to charge past Trevelyan and into the centre beneath the Breach. Before he could realize what was happening she amped up her barrier and slammed into the ground with the hardest biotic nova that she could manage.  
  
It made a massive impact, sending Trevelyan and his party flying backward. Shepard could feel the energy of the Breach making small pinpricks all across her skin as it reacted to her biotics. She could see the space in front of her opening, but she saw only darkness within it. She reached into it but couldn’t tell if she was able to step through. She needed more power.  
She could see out of the corner of her eye that the Herald had gotten up and that he was yelling at her to stop. Cassandra looked furious as she raised her sword and ran at Shepard with it. Shepard threw up a singularity field, pulling Cassandra off her feet and leaving her floating helplessly in the air.  
  
“Andraste’s ass Shepard, what are you doing?” Varric yelled from behind the floating Seeker.  
  
Shepard channelled a biotic shockwave into the opening in front of her and she watched as it split wider. She still did not see anything that she recognized. She tried to focus on Liara, thinking of her kind blue eyes, her furrowed brows, and the freckles that delicately graced her cheeks. Shepard threw out a warp into the space, groaning with the effort of it. She could feel her energy ebbing.  
  
“Shepard!” Trevelyan yelled, running around the singularity field, “You need to stop this. You’re going to rip open the veil!”  
  
“I have to do this! I’m sorry,” she said, tossing him backward with a biotic throw.  
  
She turned back to the hole that she could see forming and she thought that she saw a flicker of something. She blinked a few times as she tried to focus. It wasn’t working—she was going to lose her chance.  
  
Her nose had started to bleed; she could feel the warmth of it flowing across her lips and down her chin. Her amp burned in the back of her skull. She breathed deeply, feeling the reach of her biotics, her heart pounding against her ribs. She exhaled, jumping and forcefully slamming into the group with another nova detonation. She fell forward, landing on her hands and knees in front of the tear, her energy all but spent. Shepard reached forward as she tried to crawl into the tear. She couldn’t see anything inside, but reached her arm inside. She thought she felt a jolt of electricity as it shocked her skin, but there was nothing there. Her arm was visible on the other side of the tear, and she realized that she was passing through it, not into it. She let out another shockwave but it seemed to have little effect on the tear. It wasn’t getting any bigger. _This isn’t what’s supposed to happen,_ she thought. _Why isn’t Solas doing anything?_  
  
Unable to move, she rolled flat onto her back. Her chest was heaving with the effort of breathing. The pain from her amp was blinding, and she knew that her nose was still bleeding. Shepard looked up into the Breach and saw a stream of green energy connect with it, pouring into it until it closed with a definitive pop. That sound signaled the end of her hope.  
  
Shepard could not hold back the sobs. They were loud, painful things that wracked her body. She felt like she was choking on the tears and the blood mixing in her throat. She was barely aware of the Herald as he stood over her and said, “Imprison her immediately.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me.


	13. Solas

Solas remained in a defensive position, watching as Shepard writhed on the ground in torment. Their plan had failed and the Herald had closed the Breach. Things had not gone at all as he had hoped or expected. He feared for Shepard, but he could not blow his cover. He held his breath as the Herald stepped toward her.  
  
He looked down at the distressed Shepard. “Imprison her immediately,” he said.  
  
“What do you mean imprison her?” Cassandra argued, “she tried to kill us all by opening the Breach further! She should be executed for her betrayal against us—against the Inquisition.”  
  
She was visibly furious. Shepard had used her abilities against Cassandra, pulling her out of the fight, which was no small transgression. Solas watched as the Seeker marched up to Trevelyan, arguing with him about Shepard’s fate.  
  
“Enough!” Trevelyan yelled, silencing everyone around him. “I have neither the authority nor the inclination to simply murder this woman on the spot. Imprison her and we will deal with her when we return to Haven.”  
  
He pushed past the Seeker and his other companions and stalked out of the temple. A few of the mages had lifted up Shepard and were carrying her between them. Her head lolled forward and Solas thought that she must have fainted.  
  
“Well this shit went south in a hurry,” Varric said as he joined Solas. “What the hell was she trying to do anyway?”  
  
“She was obviously trying to sabotage our attempt to close the Breach. She may even work for this ‘Elder One’,” Cassandra said from behind them.  
  
“That is hardly a fair assumption, Seeker,” Solas retorted. “We do not know what she was trying to do, but I do not think that she was attempting to hamper our efforts.”  
  
“Sure Chuckles, that’s why she attacked the Seeker and threw the Herald around like a rag doll,” Varric drawled. Cassandra looked a bit shocked at Varric’s siding with her.  
  
“We cannot truly know her motivations,” Solas said.  
  
He needed the space to think. He had hoped that Shepard’s efforts to manipulate a tear in the veil would have served his purposes as well, but it had not worked the way he had expected. The tear was not tangible. From what he could tell it was only a glimpse between the worlds, though he could not be sure of what exactly Shepard had seen there. In truth he had not expected that she would be able to create the amount of energy necessary to travel between worlds, but he had hoped that she may be able to assist in creating a massive rupture into the fade. Unfortunately he was left with more questions than answers, though he could be assured that the Breach was now stable. That would at least give him time to work on an alternative plan.  
  
Solas had perhaps given Shepard the impression that he would be more directly involved with manipulating the energy of the Breach, but he was unable to do that in any way that would allow him to maintain the Inquisition’s trust. He was unsure what would happen to her now but he knew that he needed to speak to her before anyone else in order to convince her to keep his secret, or to use magic to alter her memory.  
  
Solas picked up his pace so that he could catch up to the Herald.  
  
“My lord,” he said, “I think that I should assess Shepard’s condition in order to ensure our safety from her abilities.”  
  
Trevelyan was obviously distracted, but responded with a half-hearted, “Yes, of course.”  
  
Solas only nodded, keeping in step with the man as they made their way closer to Haven.  
  
“I just don’t understand,” he said finally. “What was she trying to accomplish? It was as if she was trying to reach for something—as though she wanted me to give her more time before closing the Breach.”  
  
Solas made a noise to show that he was listening, but said nothing, unsure of whether or not the  Herald was actually speaking to him or merely thinking aloud.  
  
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Trevelyan muttered.  
  
They heard cheering as they approached Haven and noticed that many of the recruits and members of the village were openly celebrating. The Herald maintained a stern expression, but waved and saluted as they passed the crowds. Shepard’s arms were slung over the shoulders of two mages, her feet dragging between them, though most of the crowd only paid attention to the Herald, and their injured prisoner went largely unnoticed.  
  
Solas noticed Leliana and Josephine standing at entrance of the Chantry with Commander Cullen. The three advisors looked quite pleased, but Solas watched Cullen carefully as they approached. The Commander’s face fell as soon as he laid eyes on the lifeless-looking Shepard.  
  
“By the Maker—what’s happened? She needs a healer!” Cullen said, rushing forward to take Shepard from the mages and lift her into his arms. “We need to get her into the Chantry.”  
  
“Solas, please accompany Commander Cullen. Take Shepard to the holding cells below the Chantry and please select soldiers to be posted there around the clock,” Trevelyan said.  
  
“What’s going on?” Leliana said, her calculating eyes immediately assessing the situation.  
  
“What’s the meaning of this?” Cullen asked, still cradling an unconscious Shepard.  
  
The Herald sighed as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Please Commander, do as I ask. We will convene the war council and I will explain everything. Please meet us in the war room as soon as you’ve attended to her. You as well, Solas.”  
  
Cullen nodded sharply, not one to disobey direct orders, before heading into the Chantry and down the stairs with Solas following closely behind. Cullen carefully selected one of the larger cells with a few bedrolls inside of it. He laid Shepard down gently on one of them and began checking her for injuries.  
  
“Please allow me, Commander,” Solas said as he bent down to join him.  
  
Shepard’s hair was a matted red mess, and her face was covered in the dried blood that had poured from her nose. Solas noticed Cullen brush Shepard’s hair back from her face before he stepped back to allow the mage to work. There was a certain amount of familiarity in the gesture that caught Solas a bit off guard. Commander Cullen seemed to be a man entirely defined by his duty, and Solas did not think that he had any close friends, but his actions toward Shepard suggested that this may not be a universal truth.  
  
“What happened?” Cullen asked quietly.  
  
Solas used healing magic on what looked like bruised ribs, and fixed her fractured hands before he began to clean the blood from her face. “She used her abilities to try and do something with the Breach. The Seeker believes that she was trying to rip it open and kill us all—”  
  
“That is ridiculous!”  
  
“I quite agree, Commander. I believe that she was attempting to recreate the phenomenon that sent her here.”  
  
“She was trying to go back,” Cullen said, exhaling. Solas could hear him pacing around the cell.  
  
“I believe that this was a misunderstanding, but I am concerned about how the Seeker will respond.”  
  
“Of course. I should attend the war room at once. Can you manage?” Cullen asked.  
  
Solas nodded and heard Cullen head out from the cells. When he was certain that he was alone with Shepard, Solas gave her a small shock of electricity which woke her immediately. Her body surged with a glow of energy and Solas was knocked against the stone wall.  
  
Shepard was on him in a second, her hands wrapped around his throat. Solas knew that she was strong, but he marvelled at how easily she had lifted him off of the ground. She was certainly much stronger than she looked.  
  
“Why didn’t it work?” she seethed.  
  
“It wasn’t powerful enough,” he coughed out. He looked straight into her glassy eyes. “I miscalculated.”  
  
For a moment he wasn’t sure how she would react, her green eyes burned deeply with anger, and she looked absolutely terrifying. After a moment she released him, standing up and crossing her arms over her body. “What now?”  
  
“The war council is convening,” he answered.  
  
She scowled at him. “Let me guess: they have no idea you were involved? I look like some lone maniac, I imagine.”  
  
“They do not know that this was a constructed plan. I am supposed to join them. I could plead your innocence, tell them that you foolishly attempted to return to your world when you thought that you might have the opportunity.”  
  
“In exchange for my silence about your role in all of this, right?”  
  
“That is preferable,” Solas replied.  
  
“I know that you’ve got more invested in all of this than you’ve let on. You should know that I will find out what it is.”  
  
It felt as though ice was running through his veins. He had deeply underestimated this woman. He needed to keep her on his side, lest he lose all of the work he had done so far.  
  
“You need not forfeit your life,” Solas said quietly, choosing to avoid her previous comment.  
  
She laughed; it was hollow and full of bitterness.  “I already have.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of love to those who are reading and commenting. Thanks for sticking with this story :).


	14. No Safe Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cole makes his debut appearance.

Solas exited the dungeons quickly and quietly after he finished patching Shepard up. Consider she hadn’t given him any assurance regarding her silence, she wondered if he was going to sell her out to the Inquisition council. Shepard was reassessing everything that happened, trying to figure out what Solas had been playing at. What did he get out of her failed attempt to go through the Breach? Was it his intention to discredit her to the Inquisition? That didn’t make much sense as she didn’t really have any influence here—she couldn’t imagine how she could be a threat to him.   
  
It wouldn’t matter now anyway. Shepard lay down on the flat bedroll and stared at the stone ceiling of the cell, trying to figure out what the hell she was going to do. No doubt Cassandra had been utterly furious, and there was no telling what Trevelyan would think of the whole thing. Solas had free reign to spin the story however he wanted to. She was pretty sure that she was stuck here, if they let her live. Despite pouring as much biotic power as she could channel into the Breach, Shepard hadn’t been able to see anything in the rift save for an inky darkness. It told her nothing.   
  
She had been in the cell for at least eight hours by her count, as she had seen one shift change of guards and had been fed a full meal for what she presumed would be dinner. She had heard the guards exchange a few words during their shift change, and one had mentioned that they would be missing the celebration for the Breach’s closing that evening. Apparently it wasn’t fully sealed, but it had been prevented from spreading any further, so Josephine had organized an impromptu celebration for the village. Shepard imagined this meant she would be cooped up for a while as the inner circle would be occupied with the festivities, and would no doubt want her to stew for a day or two.   
  
Shepard kept herself occupied with numerous sets of push ups and sit ups until she collapsed into a fitful and uncomfortable sleep on the bedroll. She woke with a start when she heard a crash echo through the ground, shaking her cell. An earthquake maybe? She sat up and waited, pressing a hand to the wall to feel the reverberations. They were inconsistent and timed at moderate intervals. An attack?   
  
Her suspicion was confirmed when the guard downstairs was being shouted at to get up to the Chantry to evacuate. He took off without a second though for the occupants of the cells, of which Shepard seemed to be the only one.  
  
“Hey! You can’t just leave me here,” Shepard yelled, rattling the bars of her cell. She couldn’t be sure what was happening above but she knew that her safe release was probably the last thing on anyone’s mind.   
  
She squared her shoulders with the door and fired off a massive biotic warp, followed very quickly with a throw. The door exploded outward, freeing her. She ran down the hall and up the stairs into the Chantry as fast as she could.   
  
“Where is Commander Cullen?” she barked out to one of the scouts.   
  
“Defending the front gates while the Herald and his party defend the trebuchets.”  
  
Shepard took off without a second of hesitation. She could hear shouting from the main gates and saw a mass of armoured men out front of it. They were wearing the templar symbol, which she only recognized thanks to Solas’ recommended readings. There was something off about them: they emanated a red glow, and many of them had huge crystals sprouting from their bodies.   
  
Shepard’s tactical mind was working overtime now. It was so ingrained that it had become a kind of sixth sense. Haven was in a good position in the mountains, but it was by no means easily defensible. There were many gaps in the fences surrounding the village, and far too many entrances to keep track of. It seemed like the bulk of the force was approaching the main gates, so they could hopefully use that to their advantage.   
  
Shepard ran through the gates and into a crowd of Inquisition soldiers that was quickly being overwhelmed by the templar force. She focused on a balanced continual assault with her biotics, since the daggers she usually used had been taken away from her. She immediately let out a massive shockwave, pushing the enemies back, before sending out a far reaching singularity to delay some of the oncoming horde.  
  
“What in the world—Shepard!” Cullen barked out somewhere near her, trying to get her attention. He was a few metres away, so she sent a bunch of templars flying in the air before moving to his position.   
  
“Who released you? What are you doing here?” Cullen shouted as he focused on cutting down one of the larger templars. Shepard aided him with a few well-placed biotic punches, quickly dispatching their enemy. Cullen was breathing heavily, waiting for an answer.  
  
“I broke myself out when I heard all the ruckus. Thought you could use a hand,” she panted, tossing out a warp at another templar near by. “What the hell is going on?”  
  
Cullen used his shield to block a blow that had been intended for her, then countered the attacker before pushing forward.   
  
“The Elder One is here,” he grunted. “We took the mages and stopped the Breach, and he’s come for the Herald.”  
  
Shepard used her biotics to help push back the assailant so that Cullen could regroup and take him down. They worked in tandem, her biotics with his weapons, cutting down a large swath of their front lines. Unfortunately they just kept coming. They were standing in the middle of the fray, surrounded by soldiers and templars alike.  
  
“Where’s Trevelyan?” Shepard shouted.  
  
“With the trebuchets! We have to hold this position until they return. I think we may have to regroup at the Chantry,” Cullen said.   
  
“We’ll be backing ourselves into a corner!”  
  
“You think I don’t know that?” he yelled. Then, moving closer he said, “You’re a Commander. Assess the situation and tell me what you’d do differently.”  
  
Shepard took a minute to scan the area surrounding them, looking up into the mountain paths to see the stream of torches coming towards them. She couldn't say exactly how many people this Elder One had, but it was definitely a force that could overwhelm them. Maybe they could make a few calculated strikes with the trebuchets, but there wasn't much they could do to meet a mass that large with a frontal attack. It was purely a numbers game at this point, and it seemed like a game that the Inquisition was set to lose.   
  
“I’m with you,” Shepard said.   
  
Cullen looked as though he might speak, but was quickly interrupted by a loud roar from above them. They looked up to see a massive dragon flying overhead.   
  
“We have to retreat now!” Cullen yelled.   
  
Shepard started moving backward, using her biotics to throw, pull, and send shockwaves through the enemy troops. She knew that she needed to be careful not to burn out, but she wanted to give the Inquisition forces as much time as she could. Cullen was at the massive gates shouting the retreat as the Herald and his party came running up past the smithy with Harritt in tow.   
  
“Move it, move it!” Cullen yelled, pulling the door shut behind them. The Herald had Dorian, Blackwall, and Varric with him; if they had noticed Shepard at all, they said nothing about it.   
  
“We have to get back to the Chantry. It’s the only building that might hold against that—that beast!” Cullen yelled. Then more reservedly he said, “At this point, just make them work for it.”  
  
Shepard understood that things did not look good. She followed directly after Cullen, assisting any wounded soldiers that she could. The Herald’s party set off to clear out a few of the templars that had managed to break through, as well as help anyone left in the village.  
  
Cassandra was standing in the centre of the Chantry with Leliana, and both women were barking out orders to various members of the Inquisition. Cullen made to join them, but when Cassandra turned to face him she was immediately angered by the sight of Shepard.  
  
“What is she doing here?” Cassandra fumed, pointedly addressing Cullen.   
  
“She’s helping,” he responded.   
  
“Did you release her?”  
  
Shepard interrupted then, quite irritated by the unnecessary distraction. “I released myself. I’d rather not die locked in a cell. If I’m going down, I’ll go down fighting.”  
  
“This changes nothing,” Cassandra said, turning back to Leliana. Cullen joined in their debrief, excluding Shepard for a moment.   
  
“It’s familiar, fleeting, that helpless feeling that you need to push down to get the job done,” a soft voice said from behind her.   
There was a young man standing there in mismatched clothing and a large, floppy hat, and he spoke in a way that suggested that he knew everything about her. She didn’t know how this was possible.   
  
“Excuse me?”   
  
“ _Take heart, look around you. You’re not in this fight alone. We face our enemy together, and together we will defeat them_.”   
  
Shepard felt her blood run cold. He had repeated her words from the London base verbatim.   
  
“Who are you?” she asked, stepping toward him, but he vanished in front of her eyes. Had she imagined him?  
  
The Chantry doors were pushed open as Trevelyan and his party marched in, followed closely by an obviously wounded Chancellor Roderick being half carried by the odd young man who had just spoken to her.   
  
She thought she heard the boy say that Roderick was going to die.  
  
Trevelyan spared Shepard a hard glance then, but said nothing. She stepped back from him.   
  
Cullen approached, saying “Herald, our positioning is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”   
  
The young man addressed the two of them, saying something about an archdemon in the fade. It didn’t sound good. Cullen seemed frustrated.  
  
“Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets to make one last slide.”  
  
“We’re overrun. To hit the enemy we would bury Haven.”  
  
“We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”   
  
He said it so decisively, without question. Shepard wondered if this is how she had looked to her crew when she had made that last speech. It was a determined kind of resignation.   
  
Roderick and the young man were talking to one another, and then Roderick addressed the Herald with a rasping voice. Shepard couldn’t quite make out what he was saying exactly, but it seemed that there was a secret path somewhere in the Chantry. They weren’t entirely doomed.   
  
They discussed it for a moment before Shepard saw the look on Trevelyan’s face. It was one she imagined herself to have worn many times. Trevelyan was going to pay for their escape with his life.   
  
“I’ll do it,” Shepard said, marching up to the men.   
  
“What?” Cullen said, turning to her.   
“I can go. The Herald’s the most important part of this Inquisition and I’m expendable. I can keep this Elder One busy while you all get out of here,” she said.   
  
The Herald spoke before Cullen could. “Shepard, he’s coming after the mark on my hand, which means he’s coming after me no matter what. I have to be down there where he can find me. You would barely register as a distraction.”   
  
“There has to be something else we can do—”  
  
“Shepard,” he said, bracing her arms with his hands, “I’m doing this on my own terms.”   
  
She nodded sharply, unable to reply. She realized that this horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach must have been the same feeling that everyone on the Normandy had had when she decided to charge off to the beam in London. It was the gut-wrenching knowledge that they were sacrificing themselves to give you your best chance.  
  
“Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way,” Cullen said. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line. If we are to have a chance—if you are to have a chance—let that thing hear you.”   
  
They parted ways then: the Herald running out of the Chantry, and Cullen and Shepard heading with the remaining bulk of the Inquisition to Chancellor Roderick’s hidden path. Shepard found herself bringing up the rear of the group as she tried to assist the injured in getting on. They were bunching up at the back of the Chantry as the crowd grew, and after a few minutes she heard her name being shouted from the front of the group.   
  
She pushed forward as best she could, reaching the front of the line where Cassandra and Cullen stood cutting away at brush that was blocking the path. The snow didn’t help matters either.   
  
“Lady Shepard,” Josephine said calmly, “we would appreciate your assistance in clearing the pathway.”   
  
“Stand clear,” Shepard said, moving forward as Cullen and Cassandra stopped their efforts. She started with a a heavy throw, aiming her biotics straight up the middle of the path, and then spreading her arms out to the sides to part the snow away. She repeated this step over and over again as she ploughed up the start of the path. She was hoping that as they crested the tree line the terrain would get a bit easier. Shepard was drenched in sweat and could feel the strain of her biotic amp, which she knew was not good considering it had been overloaded earlier that day. She just needed to get through a few more metres of pathway.  
  
Shepard made it through, but she stumbled forward as they came to the top of the hill. Before she could fall face first into the snow she was pulled back by very strong arms. Cullen stepped aside with Shepard in hand so that the Inquisition’s people could make it up the hill. He released her, and she turned to say thank you, but he avoided looking in her direction.  
  
One of the scouts fired off a burning arrow, and they all watched helplessly as a single trebuchet fired and an avalanche enveloped Haven. 


	15. Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shepard learns more from Cole.

They had trudged a few miles north through the snow before finding an open area that was well sheltered from the wind. A somber silence had descended over the remaining members of the Inquisition, and they worked silently to put up tents and get the wounded settled before the inner circle of members convened in a secluded corner of camp.  
  
At Cassandra’s insistence, Shepard found herself bound to one of the tent poles with her wrists tied behind her back. She was too exhausted to even attempt to resist. An unfortunate side effect of this was that she was forced to listen to them bicker amongst themselves.  
  
Josephine was the first to speak. “I know that we are all saddened by the loss of the Herald, but we must continue.”  
  
“How do you propose we do that without the mark?” Varric asked. A few murmurs of agreement ran through the assembled members. Solas stood silently in the corner of the tent. Shepard had trouble discerning anything from his very purposeful mask of neutrality.  
  
“We have no base of operations. We need to find a safe, secure place to regroup,” Cullen said.  
  
“Our allies may be able to shelter us.”  
  
“At what cost, Josie? They will take our independence from us,” Leliana added. “Our best hope would have been Redcliffe, but I doubt that they would openly welcome the mages back.”  
  
The advisors began arguing amongst themselves regarding their strategy for moving forward. Some of the Herald’s companions broke into smaller groups and began talking amongst themselves in hurried whispers. Shepard felt as though she was watching the pieces of the Inquisition crumble in front of her face.  
  
“He moves slowly but still burns brightly. Finding a way forward, comes to find us.”  
  
Shepard jumped as she realized that the strange boy had appeared at her side.  
  
“Maxwell. He thought that if you knew that he was a person, you would know that you were a person, too. More than a mark, more than a weapon,” he said, looking at her from under his big floppy hat.  
  
The gears were spinning in Shepard’s mind. She wasn’t sure what exactly this boy was, but she knew that this wasn’t normal. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me,” she said.  
  
“It’s hard, to get the meaning right sometimes. There was a tunnel, under the snow.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“He’s close by, but getting colder. We will lose him if we don’t hurry,” the boy said.  
  
Shepard was a bit skeptical, but she had seen how the boy had interpreted what Roderick had been saying. This was a world filled with magic; who was to say what the boy was capable of?  
“Hey!” Shepard yelled at the group, trying to get their attention. They were arguing loudly now and paid her little attention.  
  
She struggled against the large rope bindings and shouted at the group again. Cassandra and Varric were screaming in each other’s faces now, and Shepard knew that it would be nearly impossible to get anyone to care about what she was trying to say.  
  
“Stand back,” she said to the boy, who disappeared when she turned toward him.  
  
Shepard concentrated her energy into her hands, building it up in to a large biotic blast. She was able to blast apart her ropes, but the tent was an unintended casualty. The detonation had served its purpose, however, as the entire group was now staring very pointedly at her. Cassandra stepped forward, immediately reaching for her sword. The others were tense, their reflexes sharpened with grief.  
  
“I had to get your attention somehow,” Shepard began.  
  
“What is the meaning of this? Do not think that we have forgotten your deceptions,” Cassandra spat.  
  
“Trevelyan is alive, but not for long. There was a tunnel underneath Haven, and he made it out. He’s trying to find his way to us, but I don’t know how much time he’s got. You have to find him.”  
  
Cassandra froze, and Shepard could see the woman contemplating her words.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere. If I’m wrong, you can kill me,” Shepard said, stepping forward and meeting the Seeker’s fierce gaze.  
  
“Cassandra, you and Cullen should head up with a few soldiers to retrace our steps and see if you can find the Herald. We will ensure that Shepard is restrained and monitored,” Leliana said. Cassandra nodded, immediately taking off with Cullen in order to search for Trevelyan. Shepard found the gaze of the spymaster upon her then.  
  
“If you are lying,” Leliana said quietly, “I will cut your throat myself.”  
  
Shepard gave her a curt nod as she put her wrists together in front of her, motioning for Leliana to tie them. A scout appeared with rope and tightly bound her wrists together again before escorting her to a tent near the camp’s makeshift war table. They had the decency to give Shepard a cot this time, and she sat down in it with her hands resting between her knees. The scout remained just outside the entrance to the tent.  
  
“We helped,” a voice said beside her. The odd boy had reappeared in her tent, and she assumed that meant that the Herald had been found.  
  
“What are you?” she asked. She wasn't sure if anyone else had remembered seeing this boy in the Chantry at Haven.  
  
“They don’t see me, or remember me. But you do.”  
  
“That doesn’t tell me much. Have you got a name?”  
  
“I am called Cole,” he said.  
  
Shepard chuckled. “Alright, Cole. I can work with that. Are you psychic or something? Magic?”  
  
Cole looked confused, titling his head to the side. “I help the hurt. I take it away and make them forget. You hurt, too, and I could help.”  
  
Shepard raised an eyebrow at this. She wasn’t entirely sure what this Cole’s abilities were, and she wasn’t sure if she should be wary of him, though something about him put her at ease.  
  
“It’s a long story, Cole. I’m not really sure how you could help, but it’s nice of you to offer,” she said.  
  
He furrowed his brow and looked as though he was deep in concentration for a moment. Then he began to speak quietly. “ _Not sure if Turian heaven is the same as yours, but if this thing goes sideways and we both end up there, meet me at the bar. I’m buying._ ”  
  
Shepard felt her heart stop as he repeated those words. It was strange, hearing them in Cole’s softer, single-toned voice, but they still hit her straight in the chest. She was unable to speak.  
  
“He remembered too, hoped you were at the bar waiting,” Cole said, smiling. “They all missed you in their own ways.”  
  
“But how—what,” she managed to stammer, but didn’t even know where to begin. It felt like her head was spinning.  
  
“Time is different there. They were connected to you and I can feel them through you, but sometimes it’s blurred together. He hurt you the most, and he isn’t blurry at all.”  
  
Shepard’s palms were sweating and she felt like she might be sick. _Maybe this is a dream_ , she thought.  
  
“It isn’t,” Cole said, kneeling on the ground in front of her. He was looking up at her from under his floppy hat.  
  
“I don’t understand,” Shepard said. “Are you reading my mind? Can you see my memories?”  
  
“He wouldn’t want you to be sad. He wanted to be with you, but was glad to be your friend, too,” Cole said. “He knew that you were trying to protect him, that you would do what was right instead of being selfish. He knew the beam in London was the end. You knew it was the end, too.”   
  
“It was supposed to be, anyway,” Shepard said. It sounded matter-of-fact, and she was surprised to hear it said without any bitterness in her voice. She thought that perhaps she should feel anger, or despair, but talking about it with Cole took the edge off. “I remember trying to memorize his face—the angles of his plates, patterns of his colony markings. I wanted to remember my best friend exactly as he was. The thought that I might never see him, or any of them, again—.”  
  
She paused, gulping down a sob. Shepard thought back to those last few moments on the deck to the cargo hold of the Normandy, when she and Garrus had exchanged their parting words. She had known deep down that it was the last she would ever see of the Normandy.“I guess that after everything that had happened I believed that the Normandy would find its way back together again—that I’d find a way to fix things. But this felt final. He let me go. I mean, he and Tali had already gotten together, so I knew that. I was relieved, really. What I didn’t expect was to feel so much pain, now that I have time to think about it.”  
  
Shepard let out a deep breath.  
  
“We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away,” Cole said.  
  
She nodded, knowing that he was right. Shepard felt the weight of it loosening from her as the regrets, longings, imaginings, began to slip away. She knew that what she had really been struggling with was herself: who was she without her crew, or the Normandy, or the fight against the Reapers. Shepard had never been one to believe in fate, and she knew that her fall through the Breach had been an accident, but she couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant for her. Was she supposed to move on? Should she? Had they?  
  
“Do you know if they’re alright?” Shepard asked Cole. “My crew, I mean.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
She let out a small laugh at this, thinking of Legion.  
  
“It always had a soul. The question is the answer,” Cole said, smiling.  
  
“I don’t know how you know all of these things, but I would really appreciate knowing what happened to them after the Crucible fired,” Shepard said quietly.  
  
“So many people, thoughts, feelings all running together in a current that rushes past a stone. You were their constant but it all slowly washed away. You can’t hold on to running water,” he said. His words ran together quickly and Shepard couldn’t quite understand them.  
  
“Okay,” she continued slowly, “What happened right after the blast? Do you know?”  
  
“Joker, it’s time to go. She’s sad, doesn’t want to give the order, but she does. Damn it, he says, thinking he could have done something more,” Cole said, and she knows that he means Joker and Ashley. “They were lost for a while in an unknown place where no one hears them, but they made their way back eventually. They were sad, thinking you were dead. You held them all together, so they went their separate ways.”  
  
Shepard lets it sink in, breathing deeply as she lets the feelings ebb and flow around her. She is sad as she thinks of her crew, but it is not the clawing despair that she had felt previously. “It helps,” she says as she closes her eyes for a moment. She hears singing outside of the tent where they are holding her, and it grows louder and louder.  
  
“The Herald is awake,” she hears Cole say. “He’ll lead us to the place where the sky is held back.”  
  
Shepard doesn’t say anything as she listens to the song outside. It’s as though the world has stopped moving and everyone has taken up the same song. Eventually it dies down and the sounds transition into the ambient noises of a lively and bustling camp. She opens her eyes and sees Cole sitting on the floor of the tent with his legs crossed. She could see the curve of his jaw peeking out from under his hat.  
  
“Thank you, Cole. I’m not sure why you’re helping me, but I’m glad.”  
  
She noticed the edges of his mouth as he smiles at her. “An old name burns inside armour that shouldn't fit. I could make you forget,” he said.  
  
Shepard shook her head. “That’s okay, Cole. Sometimes it’s important to remember. We can’t let it haunt us, but we have to know that it’s there.”  
  
He nodded, the brim of his large, floppy hat moving with him. “To make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”  
  
The front flap of the tent suddenly flipped open and Cole quickly disappeared. Cassandra swiftly stepped inside.   
“Who were you talking to?” Cassandra asked sharply.  
  
Shepard smiled and said, “Just remembering old friends and letting go of my ghosts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really struggled with writing this chapter, so I hope that it reads well. 
> 
> Quotes:
> 
> "We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there."  
> ― Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon 
> 
> "What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." —T.S. Eliot


	16. Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassandra opens up.

Cassandra stormed off to her own tent after she had checked in on Shepard, who had told her very little. She found herself unusually frustrated at the entire situation. She was angry at herself for letting her guard down with the strange woman, and wondered if she could have been paying better attention. Had she missed the signs that Shepard would do something so dangerous? Shepard was obviously a skilled and talented soldier, but Cassandra found her too unpredictable—there were too many unknowns.   
  
On the other hand, Shepard had helped them escape from Haven, and had told them that the Herald was still alive. She had been involved in the Inquisition’s day to day operations, had helped Cullen with training the recruits, and seemed genuinely invested in getting to know them all. What motivation could she have for attempting to prevent them from closing the Breach?  
  
“You look like you’re thinking too hard, Seeker. Your face might stick that way if you do it much longer,” Varric said, sinking into the cot across the tent from her.   
  
Cassandra couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the bothersome dwarf. He always knew exactly how to push her buttons.   
  
“What do you want, Varric?”  
  
He turned on his side and propped himself up on an elbow so that he could face her. He flashed her a huge grin before he spoke.   
  
“Looks like you and I are tent mates, Seeker. Space is short around here, so you’re stuck with me. Unless you’d like to go bunk up with Sera, but she’s already scared off four different people.”  
  
“Ugh. Fine, you may stay,” Cassandra said.  
  
Varric laughed as he kicked off his boots. “I wasn’t asking.”  
  
Cassandra said nothing more and laid back on her cot, staring at the ceiling of their tent. It had certainly been a long day and her body ached under the weight of it. When they were evacuating Haven she had been unable to think of the consequences of the Herald’s decision to bury the town, but when she saw the avalanche rolling down the mountain she had felt a lingering sense of disappointment. She had let down the Inquisition and had lost the Herald. She thought of the solemn silence that had fallen over the survivors who had escaped into the mountains as they trudged through the snow and managed to assemble some kind of camp. Then there had been the elation at the discovery that the Herald was alive, and the hopeful, inspiring song that they had sung in his presence. Cassandra had to believe that the Maker was watching over them.   
  
She hadn’t had a chance to speak to Herald Trevelyan privately yet. He had met briefly with the advisors, stating that in the morning the Inquisition would head north into the mountains to find refuge from Corypheus. He had said little else before telling them that he would be getting a good night’s sleep. She could understand that he was tired, but they had a number of things to discuss before blindly wandering into the mountains. There were concerns about provisions, the wounded and sick, those unaccounted for—and Shepard, of course. They hadn’t actually discussed what they would do with Shepard. Trevelyan had decided to avoid the discussion about Shepard’s actions after they had returned from the Breach, stating that he wanted to sleep on it first, but Corypheus had disturbed that plan.   
  
Should Shepard continue with them to their new location? It could give her the opportunity to betray them again. Did her actions warrant treason, punishable by death or exile?   
  
“Enough stewing, Seeker. I can feel your anger radiating all the way over here,” Varric groaned.   
  
“I am not stewing Varric,” she huffed.  
  
“You’re almost as serious as Cullen right now,” he said, and she heard him shifting on his cot. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“Certainly not,” she said, “I do not need to give you any further reason to tease me.”   
  
Varric sighed. “Look, Seeker, it has been one hell of a shitty day and I think we’re all feeling it. So how about this one’s on the house. We can talk now and we never have to speak about it again.”   
  
His voice had softened, surprising her. It had sounded like a serious offer. She rolled over to see him sitting up and looking at her intently.   
  
“Truly?” she asked carefully.   
  
Cassandra sat up on her cot so that she was mirroring Varric. He nodded as he absently rubbed a hand across his jaw. It was strong and square, dusted in red blonde stubble. He waited for her to speak.   
  
“I am unsure of what to do with Shepard. Having her in camp worries me. I fear that she is more powerful than we know,” Cassandra began.   
  
Varric nodded to show that he was listening, but did not speak, so Cassandra continued.  
  
“I do not know how the Herald feels, but it seems that she betrayed us at the Breach without any direct motivation. After everything that we have done for her she has betrayed our trust.”   
  
Cassandra looked down at her hands and began fidgeting with her gloves. She was not a woman who often shared her inner thoughts; she was much more prone to action or immediate emotion. It felt strange to be opening up to Varric, of all people, the one person who probably disliked her most of all members of the Inquisition.   
  
 “I know that it is not necessarily a priority, and Maker knows we have larger concerns, but something about it irks me,” she finished.   
  
Varric was giving her his patent grin, the kind that suggested he knew something that you didn’t, and it irritated her to no end. It was so distinctly Varric.  
“Look Seeker, I know you don’t understand this concept too well, but do you think that maybe the reason this whole Shepard thing bothers you so much is because you may have been starting to think of her as a friend?” he said, drawing out the last word.   
  
Cassandra rolled her eyes at him, opening her mouth to retort with a childish insult, but Varric continued before she could.  
  
“Look, you’d have no real reason to feel betrayed by someone who was technically a prisoner,” he drawled, “But a friend? The hardest hits are the unexpected ones.”   
  
Cassandra pulled off her gloves, if only to stop herself from fidgeting. She looked down at her calloused, battle worn hands, and a part of her acknowledged that Varric was right. Cassandra remembered the first time that she had seen some similarity between herself and Shepard was when she had seen Shepard’s hands. They looked much like Cassandra’s, telling their stories through cracked skin and short, blunt nails. She thought of the first time Shepard had been included in the Herald’s travelling party and Cassandra had had to show her how to properly sit a horse in order to avoid saddle sores. There was that night on the Storm Coast when Cassandra’s heart had broken as Shepard had opened up to them about her lost love, and then their conversation in the Chantry in Haven.   
  
“I don’t understand—why would she do it?” Cassandra asked Varric earnestly.  
  
“Have you tried asking? As a friend?”   
  
Cassandra shook her head, realizing that she had not been entirely fair. She knew that she was not unbiased in this situation, but she found herself too angry, too hurt, to be directly involved. She would defer to the Herald regarding Shepard’s fate and she would have to live with the decision either way.   
  
“I’ll take your silence as a sign that I’m right, Seeker,” Varric said.  
  
She tried to look stern, though she could not help the small smile that played at the corners of her mouth. Varric was not so bad.   
  
“Y’know, I think this is the first entirely civil conversation we’ve had,” he said.   
  
“Do not get used to it, dwarf,” Cassandra said, though her words did not have the same bite to them that they usually did.  
  
“Sure thing, Seeker. Now let’s get some sleep. I hear we’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of us,” Varric said as he lay down in his cot.  
  
He turned his back towards her and Cassandra took a moment to follow out the broad lines of his shoulders. It struck her that she was perhaps growing a bit fond of Varric, despite their tenuous introduction.   
  
_Well, shit_ , she thought as she went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet update from Cass' point of view!


	17. Where the Sky is Held Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inquisition reaches Skyhold.

The walk north through the Frostbacks had been a gruelling week-long trek, and it felt like an eternity to Shepard as she suffered through it silently. They had bound her hands, in an attempt to prevent her from using her “powers,” the scout had said, though they at least spared her the indignity of tying her to one of the carts. No one spoke to her. The common people of Haven gave her a wide berth, and the soldiers and scouts barely looked in her direction. Word of what happened at the Breach had spread, and the story had been come so infused with gossip that most thought that Shepard had made an attempt to assassinate the Herald.   
  
She saw none of the inner circle of the Inquisition, who travelled near the front of the party, although the strange boy named Cole had appeared a couple of times over the course of their journey. He would walk silently beside her, regarding her from underneath the brim of his floppy hat. He had spoken only once— _“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.”_ —and then quickly disappeared. She still wasn’t sure what to make of Cole, but his presence served to break up the monotony of what would have otherwise been a very lonely trip.   
  
Skyhold was a beautiful place in spite of its state of disrepair. It would definitely require some cleaning and renovation, but its walls and battlements told of its obstinate survival through time. Shepard was able to see very little of it before she was placed in its dungeons, of which only a few cells were fully functional. Half of it had been hollowed out and was a crumbling pile of stone and wood. Perhaps its only redeeming quality, in comparison to the dungeon of Haven, was that its position actually afforded some natural light which came in through the open space above the large waterfall. Shepard had silently entered her cell and waited for someone to eventually address her.   
  
It had been just over a month that they had been in Skyhold. She had slowly counted the days by scratching small lines on the wall of her cell with a pebble. On the first evening a bedroll and blanket had appeared, along with a washbasin and chamber pot. Her meals were delivered regularly, and she was fairly certain that they were of a better quality than what most prisoners would receive. She remained silent, for the most part, and she killed time by going through endless repetitions of jumping jacks, sit-ups, pushups, and pull-ups from the bars of her cell. Before going to sleep she would often meditate in the way that Samara had taught her, focusing her biotic energy in front of her and concentrating on her breath as it moved through her body. This made a few of the guards nervous, and it had no doubt been reported to Leliana that it was a regular practice for Shepard. Confinement in Skyhold made her arrest in the Alliance look like a vacation.   
  
Solitary confinement was a well-known strategy, and not one that particularly bothered Shepard. She could handle these types of stressful situations as long as she could logically work through the tactics they were using. Shepard had made a point of acknowledging the presence of the guards, but she did not speak to any of them. She wanted the Inquisition to crack before she did. The thing that she found most frustrating was the fact that Solas was running around under the noses of everyone in the Inquisition and that she had no means of making any headway regarding what he was involved with.  
  
It was thirty-four days before anyone came to speak with her. Shepard was in the middle of her evening meditation, her back facing the bars of her cell, when he approached.  
  
“Is that dangerous?”   
  
Shepard kept her eyes closed, focusing on the energy in front of her.   
  
“The whole purpose of the exercise is to practice control,” she said, pulling her hands farther apart so that the biotic energy grew, and then bringing them back together to push into a small, contained sphere. She took one final deep breath before letting the biotic energy fade completely, and then stood up straight and turned to face the Herald directly.   
  
“I’m surprised they’ve let you come and speak to me yourself,” Shepard said finally. “I expected Josephine, or perhaps Cassandra, and a full complement of guards.”  
  
Trevelyan’s face was difficult to read, but Shepard could see the burdens of the Inquisition outlining themselves in his features. She had looked in a mirror enough times during the Reaper War to notice the particular set of his jaw, the furrow between his brows, and the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes.   
  
“The advisors were against it, to be sure, but I wanted to speak to you directly,” he said, “and they could hardly contradict the Inquisitor.”   
  
Shepard raised an eyebrow at the new title. “Inquisitor, eh? I’m guessing that’s some kind of promotion, but news is slow down here so you’ll forgive me for missing the headline.”   
  
Trevelyan gave a small smile. “Well after my run in with Corypheus at Haven it seems I have been appointed to the leadership of the Inquisition. Hence the new title.”   
  
Shepard nodded, waiting for him to continue. It had been so long since she had had a conversation with another human being that she quickly realized how much she missed it. She had to be patient and feign disinterest, lest they think that their tactics were working on her.   
  
“It would seem that a part of my role is passing judgement on prisoners and enemies of the Inquisition,” he said finally.   
  
“And that would be me,” Shepard said flatly.   
  
“Prisoner—at this moment, yes—but enemy? I’m not sure.”   
  
They were dancing in circles around one another and Shepard found her patience waning. She stepped up toward the bars of her cell, finding her face inches from the Inquisitor’s. To his credit, he didn’t flinch.   
  
“Let’s cut the crap here. If you want me to beg your forgiveness, I won’t. I wasn’t trying to kill you, I don’t have an issue with the Inquisition, and I certainly wasn’t trying to rip open the veil. I hardly know what the goddamn veil is,” she said, bristling. “But my reasons are my own, and I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation.”  
  
“I know that you were trying to go home,” he said. “Or at least go through the Breach, in what I assume was an attempt to go home.”  
  
Shepard maintained a carefully defiant mask.   
  
“Look, Shepard, I can honesty say that I understand the position that you’re in. Between you and me, you want to be involved with this Inquisition little more than I do. I only wish that you had told me what you were doing. I could have helped you,” he said quietly.   
  
Her stomach was turning.  
  
“I thought that perhaps we were friends,” he finished. It felt like a smack across the face, sharp and stinging. His eyes met hers from between the bars of her cell and he knew that he had wounded her.   
  
“What happens now?” she asked quietly.   
  
Trevelyan stepped back, rubbing his hands across his face. She could tell that he was tired.   
  
“Honestly? I’m not sure. The advisors are pretty torn. No one wants to kill you, at least, but exile was mentioned numerous times.”   
  
Shepard snorted derisively. She was certain that Leliana had been in favour of exile, no doubt planning some kind of “accident” or unfortunate ambush by bandits.   
  
“I know that you’re a good soldier, and I know that you care about us, if not our cause. I’d rather you stay here and agree to work with us,” he said. “In exchange I am willing to help you get back to your world, to your people. All I ask is that you help me destroy Corypheus first.”  
  
“That’s it?” she asked skeptically.  
  
Trevelyan laughed. “It’s not as though defeating Corypheus is a small order, you know.”  
  
“That’s my specialty,” she said. “I have one condition: I take my orders directly from you.”   
  
“I am amenable to your terms,” he said, reaching a hand out to her.   
  
They shook hands and Trevelyan called for someone to open Shepard’s cell. She had to admit that she was glad to be free of it. She walked in step with the Inquisitor, following him up and out of the dungeon. The sun had nearly set and the sky around the battlements was dark. There was hardly anyone in the courtyard and Shepard was glad of it. She appreciated Trevelyan’s tact.   
  
“How’s it been?” she asked, gesturing toward the main building.   
  
He shook his head, sighing. “I’ve hardly been here. I was in a wretched place called the Fallow Mire dealing with an upstart Avaar who captured some of our troops and then returned through the Hinterlands to follow up with a few things.”  
  
They climbed the main steps of Skyhold as he spoke, entering the main hall. There was scaffolding in place throughout it, though the imposing spiked throne at the front of the hall did not escape notice amidst the renovations. Trevelyan gestured to a set of stairs near the throne and they ascended up as he continued speaking.  
  
“I’ll be heading to Crestwood shortly to follow up on a lead from Varric’s friend Hawke, who has been staying in Skyhold and is departing ahead of us in the next day or two. Cassandra is absolutely livid about it, considering she has been searching for Hawke for ages.” Trevelyan laughed. “Varric knew where he was the entire time.”  
  
Shepard found herself laughing with him. He seemed to need an outlet, someone on the periphery, as she understood all too well. She followed him through a door and out onto a smaller walkway that lead further along the battlements. There were a few doors side by side, and they stopped in front of one of them.   
  
“I had them put a room together for you,” he said, opening the door.   
  
Inside there was a fair sized bed, a trunk, a desk, and a small fireplace. There was a copper bath steaming in the corner. The room was fairly spartan, but in comparison to her cell Shepard thought it was a palace all on its own.   
  
“Thank you,” she said as she stepped into the centre of the room. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”   
  
“Nonsense,” he smiled. “I’ll leave you to it.”   
  
“Maxwell, wait.” She stopped him before he could close the door. He looked at her, waiting for her to continue. “We are friends, I think. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”   
  
He smiled before closing the door behind him.   
  
Shepard let out a deep breath before moving across the room to sit on the bed. She smoothed a hand over the cover, a soft heavy wool. She had no doubt that Josephine had been involved in setting up the room, whether it had been for Shepard or another possible guest, and found herself feeling guilty. Despite the parameters of the situation she found herself in, she had treated them all poorly. Most of the members of the Inquisition’s circle had given her the benefit of the doubt, and some, like Varric, had welcomed her with open arms. Instead she had put her trust in the wrong person, chosen subterfuge and dishonesty, and she had paid for it. She was determined not to waste this second chance, though she knew that she would have to earn back their trust.   
  
Shepard undressed and lowered herself into the bath, relishing the opportunity to wash her body and her hair. She stayed in it until the skin of her fingers pruned. Her hair had gotten quite long during her confinement, so she tied it up in a tight bun. She opened the trunk and pulled out clean clothing. Despite the late hour, she knew that she could not sleep, so instead she decided to walk the battlements and take in as much fresh air as she could.   
  
It was quite dark, and she saw very few soldiers posted as she walked. They seemed aware of her presence and were largely unconcerned, ignoring her entirely. She walked through the first tower, which was empty inside, and heard voices carrying on as she exited the other side.  
  
“You do tend to exaggerate,” a deep voice said.  
  
“I’m definitely not exaggerating this time, Hawke. I swear to the Maker that she was going to kill me. She blames for lying about where you were. She wanted to make you Inquisitor, you know.”   
  
Varric’s deep voice carried easily and Shepard realized it was only a few feet away. She wasn’t sure that she was ready to face him, so she tried to walk briskly but quietly past them.   
  
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not very stealthy, Commander,” Varric called. Shepard cringed, cursing herself for being unable to evade them.   
  
“It's hard to out sneak a sneaky bastard like Varric. Might as well join us for a drink,” the other man—Hawke, she assumed—added.   
  
She walked down the steps to the small area that sat just below the main level of the battlements. There was at least one empty wine bottle sitting on top of the barrel not far from the two men, who were the only ones present.  
  
“Never known you to be shy, Commander.” Varric said, handing her a newly opened bottle. “Join us for a drink.”  
  
Shepard knew that this was Varric’s version of a peace offering and she was happy to accept it. She took a swig of red wine straight from the bottle before handing it back to him.   
  
“You must be the illusive Commander that Varric’s been telling me about. Hawke,” he said, stretching out his hand toward her.  
  
“Shepard,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. “Varric’s the only one that calls me Commander around here.”   
  
Hawke laughed at that. “Everyone seems to get a nickname but me. It’s a bit unfair, don’t you think Varric?”  
  
Varric attempted to look shocked at the suggestion. “I’m basically the one who came up with ‘The Champion,’ in case you’ve forgotten. I wrote an entire book about it.”  
  
Hawke rolled his eyes, then turned back to Shepard. He was a head taller than her, and had dark messy hair and a beard. His armour was all angles and sharpness, and she noticed that he had a staff strapped across his back.   
  
“I understand that you’ve been recently released from a lovely stay in the dungeons,” Hawke said, taking a drink from the bottle that Varric had passed to him. His warm brown eyes were sparked with mischief. “Must have been quite the stunt you pulled at the Breach.”   
  
Varric must have noticed the way Shepard’s jaw tensed, as he quickly apologized. “Don’t pay attention to Hawke. The man is entirely without tact.”   
  
 “It wasn’t my finest moment,” Shepard said. “On a scale of one to murderous, how much does Cassandra hate me right now?”  
  
“I think Varric’s overtaken you there,” Hawke laughed.   
  
“The Seeker’s alright, if not a little wounded,” Varric said. “She’ll come around.”  
  
“My ‘stunt’ at the breach was an attempt to go home, for what it’s worth.” Shepard directed the statement at Hawke, but she really meant it for Varric, who nodded absently.   
  
“An understandable motivation,” Hawke replied solemnly.   
  
They stood in amicable silence, passing the bottle between them for a while. Shepard took solace in the fact that these men, like herself, seemed to carry their demons with them. There was an undeniable sense of acceptance that settled over them. Something about it made her feel sad, the weight of their mutual understanding bearing down on her. They stayed silent for a while.   
  
“I’m going to head to bed,” she said eventually, nodding goodbye to the two men.   
  
She returned to her room slowly, taking in the starry sky. It struck her then that she could not recall exactly how many days it had been since she had first arrived in Thedas. Up until her confinement in the Skyhold dungeon, Shepard had been a force of resistance, acting against her circumstances and the situation that she found herself in. She had to consider, for a moment, that perhaps she had been going about this the wrong way.   
  
She trusted Trevelyan to stay true to his word when it came to helping her get home. If she was going to stay true to hers and help them stop Corypheus, she would need to change her tactics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. —Carl Sandburg


	18. Making Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shepard tries very hard not to break her own rules and learns about Cullen's lyrium addiction.
> 
> (Minor TW: discussion of withdrawal symptoms.)

The following morning was an interesting one. Shepard found that she was met with a less malicious response than she expected, as many of the Inquisition’s scouts and soldiers ignored her entirely. She had woken up early in order to go to breakfast, hoping to miss the crowd, but found the hall much busier than expected. Having grabbed her plate and a mug of tea she found herself wandering down the long tables looking for a place to sit. There was an open space at the end of one table where almost no one was sitting, save for Dorian, the mage who had returned from Redcliffe with Trevelyan. They had had little interaction with one another as Dorian had not been in Haven long before the attempt to close the Breach, after which Shepard had been imprisoned. There had been no real opportunity for them to speak. She approached the end of the table carefully.  
  
“Mind if I join you?” she asked.  
  
“But of course! Always room for another social pariah,” he said, beaming at her.  
  
It sounded surprisingly sincere and she tucked in across the table from him. The man exuded personality, having the kind of presence that was somewhat captivating.  
  
“Your reputation precedes you, Shepard,” Dorian said, smirking. “I understand that this might not mean much to you, but the fact that you’ve aligned yourself with the ‘scary Tevinter’ will certainly seal your fate as an outsider.”  
  
She made a show of sitting up straighter and employing perfect table etiquette. “I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.”  
  
“Marvellous! In that case we will make quite the pair,” he said, winking at her.  
  
She began to dig in to her hot meal, savouring the first proper breakfast she had seen since before they had left Haven. In between bites she took the opportunity to observe the hall of Skyhold in the daylight, gazing at the high ceilings and large windows. It was going to be absolutely stunning when the scaffolds came down and the renovations were finished.  
  
Dorian cleared his throat, and leaning forward across the table he laced his fingers together, looking at Shepard expectantly.  
  
“So, I am told that you came through the Breach from another world. I suppose yours is very different from ours then? Especially considering this, er, charmingly rustic part of Thedas that we find ourselves in.”  
  
Shepard laughed in spite of herself. Dorian had a way of putting words together that was almost lyrical; it may have been the timbre of his voice, or his particular intonation, but it was engaging.  
  
“Phenomenally different,” she began. “I don’t know that I could even explain it to you. Magic does not exist in my world, but very advanced technology is central to it.”  
  
“Fascinating! Do tell,” he responded.  
Shepard attempted to explain how technology has so quickly advanced from the period after the Industrial Revolution that it had been entwined in every aspect of human life. She tried to use examples of improvements to things that Dorian would recognize from Thedas in order to demonstrate how technology assisted every day life. He was particularly stuck on the idea of vids, commenting that he himself would absolutely be a celebrity in Shepard’s world.  
  
Their conversation continued for the better part of an hour, and they realized that the hall had slowly cleared around them when the Inquisitor joined them at their table.  
  
“Careful with this one Shepard, he’ll talk your ear off,” Trevelyan joked, sitting down beside Dorian.  
  
“I am an extremely talented conversationalist, I’ll have you know. As intelligent as I am handsome, which is a rare combination,” Dorian said, smiling. “What news from the war room?”  
  
Trevelyan’s smile faltered, and Shepard wondered momentarily if she should not be privy to the information. “I can go,” she said, moving to get up.  
  
“No, it’s quite alright. It’s just been rather overwhelming of late. We have been receiving quite a number of requests from all over Thedas now that are considered to be a legitimate force against Corypheus.”  
  
Shepard sat back down, leaning forward to listen. She had taken in the Inquisitor’s somewhat dishevelled appearance the night before and had hoped that it only meant he had been travelling, but it seemed that there was a fair amount of stress associated with this new role.  
  
“We head to Crestwood tomorrow to meet with Hawke’s warden ally, and I worry about what we might find there. I think that the trip will also involve a few detours to different regions of Ferelden in order to tie up some business, so it may be a bit of a trek,” Trevelyan continued.  
  
“That means lots of camping, and little luxury. I can hardly contain my excitement,” Dorian muttered, rolling his eyes.  
  
Shepard grinned at him before turning back to Trevelyan. “Well I’m hardly concerned about roughing it. Should be fun.”  
  
“I’m sorry Shepard, but you won’t be joining us,” he said gently. “I’ll be traveling with Dorian, Solas, and Cassandra.”  
  
“Oh,” she said. “I misunderstood. I thought I was taking orders from you directly.”  
  
He nodded. “Yes of course. I’ve met with the war council this morning and they had some concerns about you going into the field with me. For now you’ve been assigned to responsibilities within Skyhold so that they can meet with you and observe your behaviour.”  
  
“So what you mean to say is that Leliana doesn’t want me out of her sight and you’re putting me on house arrest,” Shepard deadpanned. Dorian snorted into his tea, pretending not to laugh.  
  
They were acceptable terms, and she likely would have done the same if the situation was reversed, but she sorely wished that she had the chance to get out of Skyhold for a while. At the very least the Inquisitor would be travelling with Solas, so she wouldn’t have to be near the elf. It might also give her a bit of an opportunity to snoop around and try to determine what he was up to.  
  
Trevelyan placed a hand on his chest with mock indignation. “I cannot stop you should you chose to look at it like that, Shepard. I will say, however, that part of the agreement is that you are still under my direct command. When not in my presence, you are assigned to assist Commander Cullen and will take your orders directly from him.”  
  
Shepard blanched, finding herself at a loss for words.  
  
“Do not lead me to believe that you aren’t an admirer of the Inquisition’s handsome Commander,” Dorian crooned. “I certainly am. Although that atrocious fur coat definitely needs to go.”  
  
Trevelyan nudged Dorian playfully with his shoulder when he heard the comment. Dorian grinned back at him before turning to Shepard again.  
  
“At a loss for words, are we?” Dorian said, eyeing her suspiciously. He was like a shark who smelled blood.  
  
“I’m just taken off a bit off guard. I didn’t think that Cullen would be interested in managing someone else. He’s pretty busy as it is,” Shepard said clumsily.  
  
In truth she felt as though her heart was sitting in the bottom of her stomach. She had not seen nor heard from Cullen since she had helped him clear the path out of Haven. She didn’t even want to imagine what he might think of her and the perceived betrayal. It seemed known that Shepard was not acting willfully against the Inquisition or against its Inquisitor, but her actions had disregarded the importance of both. She did not think that it was something that Cullen would have taken lightly, and she was certain that if he had wanted to talk to her he could have visited her in the dungeon. She took it as a very clear sign that he wanted nothing to do with her.  
  
“Funny thing, that,” Trevelyan smiled sheepishly, “I haven’t actually told him yet.” Shepard scowled and he quickly said, “But I’m sure it will be fine! I am the Inquisitor, so he has to listen to me.”  
  
Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. “Now Maxwell, you’re not giving the poor woman much of an advantage at all.” Turning to Shepard he said, “The man loves duty, strategy, and chess. I suggest you start there.”  
  
“I guess we’ll leave you to it!” Trevelyan said cheerily, standing up from the table. “Best of luck.”

  
   
Shepard waited as long as she could before seeking out Cullen. She had spent the entire morning in her room after she had seen the Inquisitor and his party off, standing in the back of the crowd of admirers, and had taken some time to explore the grounds of Haven. She had noticed that Cullen was visibly absent from the makeshift area where the troops trained, finding Rylen running drills instead. If Rylen noticed Shepard he paid her absolutely no attention. She asked around for the Commander and had been directed to a makeshift desk in the lower courtyard. One of the scouts told her that they were working on putting together an office for Cullen, but that he had told them it was of a lower priority than the other accommodations. They were unsure of where the Commander was, suggesting that he may be in the war room or out on the battlements. It hardly narrowed things down.  
  
Shepard avoided the war room for now as she scarcely wanted to simultaneously endure Josephine’s diplomatic scolding and Leliana’s harsh gaze. She had to admit that she was also inclined to speak with Cullen alone. She was worried about facing his disappointment and hoped that she would be able to try and explain what had happened. She wasn’t sure why she was so concerned. It wasn’t his approval that she was looking for, rather she felt that the two of them had a common understanding which she valued enough to hold on to. It was an intangible awareness that she found difficult to put into words, though she felt it easily in his presence.

There was a tingling feeling that danced along her spine as she remembered something that Ash had told her once. _“Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.”_ Tennyson, of course. Ashley had quoted the line to Shepard and then explained that no matter how much Ashley got to know her, she felt as though Shepard was always holding a piece of herself back. Ashley was a perceptive woman, and Shepard had appreciated her forthrightness, but it was hard to take when it was pointed directly at her. At the time she had shrugged it off, though now, seeing the same thing reflected in Cullen, she was astounded by the truth of it. It was so easy to illuminate one part of yourself while obscuring another.  
  
After dinner Shepard crossed the courtyard and climbed the stairs up to the battlements. The view was breathtaking. She had seen some gorgeous landscapes during her travels with the Normandy, and the view from Skyhold out onto the Frostbacks rivalled many of them. She walked over to the central tower, which at the moment looked a little worse for wear. There was something oddly charming about its dishevelled state. She opened the wooden door slowly, noticing that the room was quite a mess. Old beams had fallen in, stones lay haphazardly around the room, and she noticed an old loft that still looked somewhat study in spite of itself.  
  
She was standing in the middle of the room when she heard muttering from behind the open door. Turning around she was shocked to find Cullen sitting with his knees up to his chest and his back against the wall. He hadn’t realized that anyone was there, and was rocking back and forth slightly. Shepard approached him carefully.  
  
“Cullen? Are you alright?”  
  
She knelt down about a foot away from him and waited for a reply. He did not acknowledge her presence, though she heard him saying something out loud.  
  
“You cannot make me take it. I will not take it.”  
  
He was repeating it over and over again, as though chanting a mantra. She repeated his name, but he still only continued to say the same phrase. Shepard reached forward and tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder.   
“Cullen, it’s Shepard.”  
  
He jumped a bit, lifting his head and meeting her eyes with his. She was taken aback by his appearance; deep circles sat under his eyes, his skin was pale, and sweat dripped down his face. Cullen was very obviously ill.  
  
“Cullen, I think you’re quite sick. I can take you to a healer,” Shepard offered.  
  
“No! No mages, no magic. They have too much—they cannot help me,” he said, a certain fierceness coming out in his features.  
  
“I don’t know what you mean,” Shepard said. “How can I help?”  
  
Cullen shook his head as he wrapped his arms around his body. “S’not usually this bad. It’s never been this bad.”  
  
His teeth were chattering as he said it. Shepard slowly began to assemble the pieces as she surveyed Cullen’s features once more. It dawned on her that he was going through some kind of withdrawal, though from what exactly she had no idea. She had seen this before when she was a child on the streets, though she tried to keep those memories locked deeply away. She needed to move him somewhere more comfortable and secure.  
  
“Where is your room?” Shepard asked.  
  
He shook his head again. “Barracks. The soldiers cannot know. Can’t go there.”  
  
Shepard sprung into action immediately, taking all of a fraction of a second to decide what she needed to do.  
  
“I’m going to lift you up, Cullen. I’m going to take you back to my room and help you. Just me, okay?”  
  
Cullen nodded slowly as he lowered his legs to the floor, and Shepard bent forward to place an arm under his armpits and lift him up. He was quite heavy, a solid bulk of a person, and the armour didn’t help.  
  
“Lean your weight on me. Can you walk with me?” Shepard asked.  
  
Cullen nodded, sliding his arm around Shepard’s shoulder. They walked slowly out of the tower and along the battlements. There were a few guards posted up ahead and Shepard could feel Cullen stiffen at the sight of them.  
  
“I don’t want them to know,” he said in Shepard’s ear.  
  
“Stay quiet and don’t look them in the eyes. Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” she responded as they moved closer to the guards.  
  
The guards noticed them approaching and stopped to stare, obviously in a state of disbelief over what they were witnessing. They seemed so shocked that they failed to stand at attention.  
  
“Evening,” Shepard said. “The Commander had a bit too much ale at dinner. He so rarely lets loose that I think it’s gone straight to his head. We’re heading back in now. D’you mind helping us with the door?”  
  
She didn’t give them the opportunity to ask questions, though the youngest guard could hardly contain his shock. The doors opened for them and Shepard stepped in through the tower to head to the side path that lead to her room. She called over her shoulder, “Could you send a note to Rylen and let him know the Commander will be out of commission tomorrow? I imagine this will be a mighty bad hangover.”  
  
They continued walking without another word, and Shepard heard Cullen groan out a thank you once they were out of earshot of the guards. They made their way as quickly as they could to her room. It was a bit like running a three legged race, Shepard thought. She could feel Cullen’s body shaking with small tremors.  
  
When they finally made it to her room she was pleased to find that a fire had been started in her fireplace and that a hot bath was waiting. She sat Cullen down on the edge of the bed and felt his forehead and cheeks. He was burning up, his skin clammy.  
  
“I’m s-so cold,” he said, teeth chattering.  
  
Shepard began untying his fur mantle from his armour. “Cullen, we’re going to have to take off your armour and I think we should clean you up. Then we’re going to put you to bed. You may start feeling nauseous and want to throw up. You have to tell me if that’s the case. Is it okay if I remove your armour with you?”  
  
Cullen nodded and began fumbling with the latches of his armour to little avail. “Andraste’s ass,” he muttered, “I am p-pathetic—I c-can only imagine what you think of me.”  
  
“Certainly better than what everyone’s been thinking of me the past few weeks,” she said quietly, helping with the buckles of his chest plate. He stopped her for a moment, gingerly taking her hand.  
  
“We shouldn’t have this c-conversation now. I want my m-mind to be clear,” he said.  
  
Shepard nodded and he released her hand, letting her continue with the armour. She pulled off the pieces and set them carefully at the foot of the bed. The cotton shirt he wore underneath was soaked through with sweat.  
  
“I am going to help you take this off, okay? Then if you feel up to it you can take off the rest of your clothes and get in the bath. I’ll turn my back to you and keep my eyes closed.”  
  
“Protecting m-my modesty?” Cullen coughed out. “I’ve seen you n-naked, remember? It’s only fair.” She laughed, thinking of when he had walked in on her getting out of the bath, one of their very first encounters in Haven. “B-besides,” he continued, “I don’t think I can get in there on my own.”  
  
She helped him strip off his remaining clothes and walked him over to the copper tub. Shepard held onto his arms while he stepped into it, bracing himself on her. He let out a sigh of relief as he slipped into the tub, leaning his head against its elongated back. Shepard moved to sit on the end of the bed a few feet away, close enough that he could ask her for anything but not so much that she was impinging on his privacy.  
  
They sat silently for a long time and Shepard thought that he had fallen asleep. She took a moment to study his features: the angles of his jaw, the curve of his brow, the scar across his mouth. It was hard to believe that a man she had not spoken to for six weeks was now sitting naked in her bathtub.  
  
“Lyrium,” he said, his eyes still closed. Shepard flinched in surprise, wondering if he had known that she was studying his face. When she said nothing, he continued.  
  
“Templars are required to take lyrium. It gives us our abilities, but we are also dependent upon it. I decided to stop taking it when I joined the Inquisition.”  
  
“And now you’re suffering the consequences,” Shepard said.  
  
Cullen opened his eyes, staring at her. He was waiting for her to say more. She knew that look, that search for affirmation. The acknowledgement that you’re doing the right thing.  
  
“It’s brave, what you’re doing,” she said. “I know that you’ll succeed.”  
  
“It isn’t that easy.”  
  
“Didn’t say it would be. Doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re up to it,” she said, giving him a small smile.  
  
“Thank you, Shepard,” he said. “For all of your help.”  
  
She knew that she couldn’t say no to someone in trouble, but she was aware of that familiar tug of attachment that pulled at her too.  
  
“Anything for a friend,” she said, but she wasn’t sure if it was for Cullen’s benefit or her own.


	19. Jane

_She found herself in the midst of a beautiful forest of vibrant greens, the massive trees stretching upward and spreading their branches as widely as they could. It was calm, comfortable, but the farther she walked the darker the trees became as their leaves receded, the empty branches twisted and gnarled. She smelled smoke, felt the heat of flames around her, as she walked into a large clearing. The small boy that she had come to know as the Catalyst was standing in the midst of the destruction, waiting for her._  
  
_“You are alone. Your name is forgotten.”_  
  
_“This isn’t real,” she spat back._  
  
_“Isn’t it? You may have destroyed us, but you destroyed yourself, too.”_  
  
_The smoke was getting thicker now, and she could feel it burning in her lungs. Suddenly she was reliving her death, was floating over Alchera, gasping for air. The silent vacuum of space was swallowing her as she grasped her throat—_  
  
“I’ve got you. It’s just a nightmare.” Strong arms gently held her shoulders as she thrashed awake, the memories fading away as she looked around the room with open eyes. She was slouched over in the desk chair of her room and Cullen was kneeling in front of her.  
  
“It’s alright, we’re in your room. It’s quite late.”  
  
She slowly started piecing things back together in her mind. She had helped Cullen get out of the bath and was trying to get him to lie down in her bed when he had started throwing up. He had spent the next few hours heaving intermittently while Shepard rubbed his back or helped him clean up. He had finally fallen asleep and she had wanted to read for a while to keep an eye on him. She must have dozed off.  
  
She rubbed her eyes, letting out a deep shuddering breath. Cullen’s hands were still holding her arms when she met his gaze.  
  
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to wake you.”  
  
“I should be the one apologizing as I am the one currently occupying your bed while you should be sleeping. Why don’t we trade places?” he said.  
  
Shepard shook her head. “You’re ill. You could use the rest more than me. Besides, it was just a nightmare.”  
  
Cullen rubbed a hand over his tired face. “There’s no need to argue over it,” he said finally. “The bed is large enough for two to share, and I promise to keep to my side. There are still a few hours until dawn.”  
  
Shepard smiled a bit, thinking of the conversation they had had before she left for the Breach. “So long as you don’t do anything untoward, I think it’s fine if we share. And you’re off tomorrow, so that means a good sleep-in.”  
  
Cullen rolled his eyes at her as he got to his feet, extending a hand to help her up. She stood, taking a moment to roll her stiff shoulders. Shepard pulled off her boots and her overclothes, wearing only a loose-fitting shirt and her underwear. She slipped under the covers of the bed, relishing the feeling of the soft mattress, and turned her back to Cullen. They lay that way for a while before she heard him speak.  
  
“I get them too.”  
  
He had said it so quietly that she thought for the briefest moment that she had imagined it. Shepard rolled onto her other side so that she could face Cullen, who was lying on his back with an arm resting under his head.  
  
“Nightmares?” she asked, just as quietly.  
  
Cullen nodded, closing his eyes. “From my time as a Templar. Horrifying things find me in my dreams. Sometimes it feels inescapable, as though the only thing I can do is avoid falling asleep in the first place.”  
  
Shepard shuddered. It was a feeling she understood all too well. She had hardly slept during the last stretch of the Reaper War, too terrified by the faces of dead friends who confronted her in her dreams. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths as she tried to push the thoughts away. She felt a warm hand envelope her own, opening her eyes in surprise to find that Cullen had rolled on his side to face her directly. She felt vulnerable, so open to him in this moment and she knew that they were standing on the edge of the imaginary line she had drawn for herself.  
  
“We’re both cursed with them it seems,” Shepard said. She had been trying for humour but it had fallen flat, too weighed down with truth.  
  
“But right now we do not have to be,” he said, closing his eyes. She focused on the warmth of his hand holding her own and let it anchor her safely as she slept.  
  
  
  
She is still holding onto Cullen’s hand when she wakes up hours later. The room is flooded with sunlight from the small window, giving it a warm glow. They are still curled up on their sides, facing each other, and Shepard listens to the repetition of Cullen’s deep, even breaths. His face is calm, all of the worried signs of waking life removed from it. The image of him is quite striking, and Shepard tries to tell herself that she is indifferent to his strong arms and broad chest.  
  
The last time she had been in bed with someone had been with Garrus, right before the trip through Omega-4 relay. Where Garrus’ turian body had been all hard plates and sharp angles, Cullen’s is soft skin and curved muscles; different, yet neither more attractive than the other. She cannot help but see the smallest similarity in them. She had found an unlikely connection in the midst of the absolute chaos of her life, and she desperately needed it to banish the overwhelming loneliness she felt, if only for a few moments.  
  
She is suddenly self-conscious about the fact that she is sleeping next to a mostly naked man. She knows that this connection with Cullen is only preserved so long as they stay here, unmoving, and ignoring the world that exists outside the door of her room. She can pretend, only for so long, that this is somewhere else, they are someone else, right up until the moment that they open the door and let the world come rushing back in to meet them. She doesn’t know what would happen to them then.  
  
Cullen yawns, opening his eyes slowly. She is not sure if he has noticed their entwined hands, but he does not move his, and she makes no effort to move hers either.  
  
“Sleep well?” he murmurs.  
  
Shepard nods with a small smile. “Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”  
  
“Me too,” he says kindly.  
  
They enjoy the silence for a while, neither one having any inclination to move. She realizes that Cullen is studying her face intently, as if searching for something that he cannot find.  
  
“Do you ever feel like it is impossible to be anything other than a soldier?” he asks eventually.  
  
She has to avert her gaze to think about putting the words together. Slowly she says, “I wonder where the soldier ends and I begin. I find myself wondering when the job is supposed to be done…if we give too much to it.”  
  
“It’s been my entire life,” he says. “I left for templar training as a boy, and now that I’m trying to leave the lyrium behind me I have to wonder if I’m not replacing it with something else. If you took my title away I’m not sure that I could be just ‘Cullen Rutherford’.”  
  
Shepard nods, a lump forming in her throat. She knows all too well what that feels like. She’s barely heard her own first name over the past decade. She squeezes Cullen’s hand and forces herself to meet his eyes. Something about this moment wills her to be honest with him, as though she could tell him anything and it would be contained within the space they both occupy. As if she knows that he will understand.  
  
“I was trying to recreate the phenomenon that sent me here. At the Breach—I was trying to go home,” she says. “The past few years, the War in my world, was an endless stream of orders, and duty, and goddamned responsibility. It took absolutely everything that I had, but I saw it through. I knew there were two options in the end: I’d get to retire and enjoy my life, or I’d die a soldier’s death.”  
  
“And in coming here you were somehow robbed of both,” Cullen interjects. Shepard realizes that he is returning the squeeze of her hand, the two of them desperately clinging to whatever it is that is reflected in the other.  
  
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” she says, tears welling in her eyes. “Solas told me that it should work. That nothing bad would happen to anyone here.”  
  
Cullen takes note of her mention of Solas but says nothing, waiting for her to continue.  
  
“I tried reaching through, sending out as much energy as I could to try and find something familiar, but there was nothing there. Nothing waiting for me,” she stammers. “I only wanted to have the choice.”  
  
She does not feel the tears, but she feels Cullen’s fingers against her skin as he brushes them away. She feels him pulling her into his arms and hugging her against his chest, feels his hand running through her hair. She buries her head into his shoulder, the scent of his body a comforting closeness that she can wrap herself in to protect against things inside her that she has not acknowledged for a long time.  
  
“You have a choice, Shepard,” he says quietly, and it sounds wrong to her somehow.  
  
“Jane,” she says.  
  
“Jane?”  
  
“My name.”  
  
“Jane,” he repeats reverently, recognizing the weight of it.  
  
She lifts her head to meet his gaze and she knows that he feels the haunting loneliness of people like them, understands what it means to be a title instead of a person. Before she can think better of it she presses her lips to his, their unspoken affinity for one another becoming tangible in a simple action.  
  
His arms tighten around her as he deepens their kiss, the electricity of it running through her nerve endings. Her hands are pressed against his chest and she feels the warmth of his body calling out to her own. She knows that if they never let their feet touch the floor they could just stay inside this room together, stretching themselves out into an eternity while they ignore everything else. But they don’t have an eternity, only a moment of decision.  
  
Cullen breaks their kiss and he is nuzzling his nose gently against her cheek as he asks her if they should stop. It is hardly more than a whisper but she knows that he is giving her an out if she wants it. She wants to do something selfish, doesn’t want to think about implications or consequences, wants to make a decision on behalf of herself for once.  
  
“I want you,” she says, pressing kisses to his jaw, “Cullen Rutherford.”  
  
It is as though the sound of his name has lit a fire within him, and they are frantically discarding what little remains of their clothing as lips and hands move to explore bare expanses of skin.  Cullen moves with her as she rolls onto her back and, as he presses into her and she wraps her legs around him, she realizes that they are speaking to one another without uttering a single word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nervous/excited to hear thoughts about this one. (*ﾟｰﾟ*)


	20. Reprecussions

It is mid afternoon before they even consider getting out of bed. Shepard is curled up to Cullen’s side, tracing the lines of his collarbones with her fingers when she hears his stomach growl.   
  
“Work up an appetite?” she jokes.   
  
“Yes,” he says, “though I am loathe to do anything about it if it means we have to move from this bed.”   
  
She feels his laugh as much as she hears it and it makes her smile. She cannot remember the last time she has spent most of the day in bed with someone else. Cullen shifts his weight under her and she props herself up on his chest so that she can see his face. He smiles when their eyes meet and she feels her face warm with a blush.   
  
After a moment his smile falls into something more serious. “I want to thank you for taking care of me last night. I am not proud of the state that you found me in.”   
  
“I don’t know much about lyrium, but I understand that you’re going through withdrawal,” she responds. “When was the last time you used it?”  
  
“Not since I left Kirkwall, when Cassandra recruited me for the Inquisition. It has been more difficult recently as we’re shipping in lyrium for the mages we’ve allied with, and with them having no specific place to practice I find that I’m overwhelmed with the presence of it throughout Skyhold. I find myself thinking of it constantly.”   
  
Shepard feels his body tense under her, can sense the way he is struggling with his own demons.   
  
“Is this why you get the migraines?”  
  
Cullen nods in response to her question, closing his eyes in frustration. “I worry that I am compromising my position as the Commander of the Inquisition,” he pauses and Shepard sees his sword hand clench in frustration. When he speaks again, his voice is harsh. “I swore myself to this cause—I should be taking it.”   
  
She puts her hands to the sides of his face before she speaks. “Being a Commander does not make you infallible. Doing the right thing for yourself can mean that you’re doing the right thing for the Inquisition, too. I think you’re doing something very brave. You’re still a person, Cullen Rutherford.”   
  
He opens his eyes and she feels him searching her features for an answer to a question that he hasn’t asked. He brushes her hair away from her face, strokes her cheek with his thumb. “Maker you’re stunning,” he says.  
  
“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Shepard leans forward and kisses the top of the scar that crosses his mouth. There is a small nagging feeling in the back of her mind that tells her that this is a dangerous path; it is easy to get too close. She cannot deny that she wants to, but she knows where this leads. Shepard feels his arms tighten around her, holding her close to him. She runs her fingers through his hair, places a final kiss to his lips.   
  
“There is a small part of me that never wants to leave this room,” he says quietly.   
  
“What happens when we do?” she asks. Pragmatism is asserting itself within her mind and she gives it voice.   
  
She pulls away from him so that she is sitting up, facing away. She’s not sure why she is worried about his answer. She has had a number of one night stands before on shore leaves, and Garrus, despite their friendship and her deeper feelings for him at the time, could be considered similarly. Perhaps it is because she has never actually had to ask what happens next; she’s never given herself the option.   
  
“I want you to know that I have the utmost respect for you, as a person, as a soldier—that is, you’re a formidable woman,” he starts, then stops for a moment. “Maker’s breath, that didn’t quite come out right. I’m still not entirely convinced that this isn’t some kind of feverish dream that I’m going to wake up from at any moment.”   
  
She can hear him shifting in the bed behind her. He takes her hand and she turns to face him.   
  
“When you were imprisoned I found myself missing our conversations, eating dinner together, seeing you at morning training. There is something absolutely captivating about you.” He brings her hand to his lips and kisses the back of it.  
  
“I know that we’re in the middle of a war, that you are not from this world, and that I am struggling with my own issues, but I cannot deny my attraction to you. I am not sure about the proper etiquette of this where you’re from, but I would very much like the opportunity to spend more time with you. That is, if you feel the same,” Cullen finishes.   
  
She can’t help but smile at his reddened cheeks. She can feel butterflies fluttering in her stomach and she knows that there is an undeniable chemistry between them. Sex had been the easy part, when she thinks about it. Getting to know this man, spending time with him, developing feelings for him—it could end horribly.   
  
Or wonderfully, she thinks.   
  
No one seems to have any idea how long this war against Corypheus will last, and then they would still have to figure out how to get her back home—if they could at all. For once the fate of the world isn’t resting on her shoulders, and she has the space to consider the possibility of doing something selfish.   
  
“Dating.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s called dating where I’m from. Some people take the etiquette very seriously, but I’ve never paid much attention,” she says, smiling. “So if you’re asking me if I’d like to go on a date with you, then my answer is yes. I’d like that very much.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really, Rutherford,” she says.   
  
His smile seems to knock the breath from her lungs. “I’m going to go now before I embarrass myself. Or wake up. I think either option is equally possible at this point,” he says before he gets out of bed to collect his clothes.   
  
He puts the armour back on and lazily throws his fur coat over top. One day she’ll think to ask him about the ridiculous thing.   
  
“I’ll send you a note about our date,” he says. He returns to the bed and kisses her on the cheek before he leaves. Shepard is surprised to discover that she is a bit sad to see him go.   
  
_Too close_ , a voice echoes in her mind.   
  
Shepard wills herself to get out of bed and get dressed, realizing that she has wasted most of the day and is very decidedly starving. When she arrives at the tavern she almost immediately regrets showing her face. The bar is full of members of the inner circle, and she had not expected to have to confront them all at once. She considers running, but it is too late for that.  
  
“Commander Shepard!” the Iron Bull calls from across the room. He waves her over to the table where he is sitting with Sera, Krem, and Blackwall. Shepard joins them, sitting down and nodding in greeting to each of them.  
  
“Heard you were pardoned by the Inquisitor,” Blackwall says, “Welcome back.”    
  
A beer appears in front of her and they are toasting to her pardon, so things are not going as badly as she imagined they might, until Sera gets that devilish grin on her face and loudly says, “So you and Cully-Wullen have finally come up for air?”   
  
Shepard nearly spits out her beer and the tiny blonde elf is cackling with laughter. She hazards a look around the table and Iron Bull waggles his eyebrows at her while Blackwall gives her a small grin. She groans and puts her forehead down on the wooden table.   
  
“How long before word spread through the barracks?” she asks, unwilling to move.   
  
She had always hated gossip, especially when she had been onboard ships. As soon as anyone said scuttlebutt she would head in the opposite direction. Now that she discovered that she may be the focus of some of it, she finds herself cringing. She wonders briefly if Cullen has heard the rumours, and if perhaps he is rethinking getting involved with her. She is already the strange woman who fell out of the Breach and was imprisoned for supposedly tried to kill the Inquisitor; it’s not as though she will ever be able to lay low in Skyhold.   
  
“Soldiers on the battlements said they saw you taking a very drunk Cullen back to your quarters last night,” Krem says.  
  
“Considerin’ how uptight Cully is, that one spread like wildfire, innit?” Sera interjects.  
  
“When no one saw the two of you at all today it just added fuel to the fire,” Blackwall finishes.  
  
Shepard dares to lift her head and she starts to chug her beer. She hears the Iron Bull’s bellowing laugh. “Redheads,” he says, in between breaths.   
  
Blackwall gives her a pat on the back.   
  
“Good for you for getting through to the grumpy arse,” Sera says. “It’s a war, but we aren’t dead yet.”   
  
Cole appears suddenly at the end of the table. “Bugger you demon thing, I’m going up,” Sera says, leaving swiftly.   
  
“Can you all see him?” Shepard asks the table. She receives nods from everyone who is left sitting.   
  
“The Inquisitor said I could stay. I shouldn’t make them forget.”   
  
Shepard nods, unwilling to ask anything further in front of everyone else. She is surprised to discover that others can see him, but is also glad to know that she had not imagined him. The boy’s uncanny ability to know secret, hidden things is not something that she wants everyone to hear. Especially when it comes to Cullen.   
  
“Safe and solid, protecting and proud, he feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him,” Cole says, looking directly at her.   
  
Shepard shoots him one of her intimidating commander glares, but he just tilts his head to the side, the brim of his floppy hat tipping closer to the table. She can see that he is smiling.   
  
“Those were his, not yours. Did I do it wrong?” he asks, concerned.   
  
Folks around the table burst out laughing and Shepard cannot help but blush. She feels that it has been happening a lot today.  
  
“You in for another round?” Bull asks.   
  
“Hell yes,” she says.   
  
Over drinks and dinner, after a number of hours in the tavern, Shepard meets all of The Bull’s Chargers, and learns an extensive amount of Grey Warden history from Blackwall. She takes this as a sign that she has mostly been forgiven. None of them had been at the Breach, so she reminds herself that this is the easy crowd. She still has to talk to Cassandra, and definitely still needs to figure out how to deal with Solas. She tries not to think about it, throwing herself back into the excitement buzzing around their table.    
  
A rowdy cheer goes up from around the bar as Varric walks through the door and makes a beeline straight for the table. Shepard has to shake her head, thinking about how easily Varric seems to embrace the attention. He tosses a small leather bag of coins onto the table in front of Bull, who grabs it happily with a knowing grin. Varric sits down across from Shepard and someone hands him a beer.  
  
“You and Curly, huh?” Varric says with a raised eyebrow. He raises his glass to Shepard and she knocks her own against it. She takes a long drink, preparing for the inevitable jokes.   
  
“I’m glad,” he continues. “He had a hell of a time in Kirkwall, and from what I hear Ferelden wasn’t much better. It’s nice to see him loosen up.”   
  
Shepard doesn’t respond to this, not wanting to encourage this line of conversation. Some part of her thinks that talking about it will make it more than what it is, more than what it could be. In her experience, one night of passion with a friend is the only step toward a relationship that she has ever been able to make. After that point she always seems to stop dead in her tracks, changing course and avoiding things entirely. She’s trying to will herself to see this one past that first night, if only to know that she’s capable of doing so.   
  
“Listen Commander: I’ve got a soft spot for ol’ Curly. You damn well better not hurt him,” Varric says, the seriousness of his comment coming through the thin layer of humour.  
  
“You make it sound like it’s going to end in disaster,” Shepard deflects.  
  
“I’m a writer. I assume every relationship will end in disaster.”   
  
She rolls her eyes at him and finishes her drink, ending the conversation there. She stands up from the table and says a general goodbye to everyone who has managed to stick around. It is dark by the time she leaves the tavern and the night air is cool against her skin. She takes deep breaths of the mountain air, admitting to herself for the briefest of moments that she likes it better than the recycled air that starships are dependent upon.   
  
Shepard is more than ready for sleep by the time she reaches her room. She can hardly believe that the last twenty-four hours were not a dream, a ridiculous giggle escaping her lips. She looks around quickly to see if anyone near by has heard, then opens her door.   
  
There is a folded note on the floor, stamped with a wax seal. She opens it carefully, that nervous fluttering feeling in her stomach again.   
  
_Jane,_  
  
 _I greatly look forward to our ‘date’, and hope that you will set aside some time in the afternoon three days from now. We’ll meet at the stables just after lunch. Wear comfortable travel clothes._  
  
 _Warmest regards,_  
  
 _C. Rutherford_


	21. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen and Shepard try to have a nice time together.

Shepard was nervous. She had been purposefully avoiding Cullen for the past two days and had spent most of the morning pacing around her room. She had heard nothing further from him, so she was under the impression that they were still going ahead with their date this afternoon—and she was terrified. She couldn’t even recall the last time she had been on a date.  
  
The nervous tirade around her room was interrupted by Josephine knocking at the door. “Is this a bad time?”  
  
“No, please come in,” Shepard said, gesturing for the ambassador to step inside.  
  
“I hope you have found the room to your liking,” Josephine said, smiling sweetly.  
  
“It’s lovely, thank you. Better than I deserve, I’m sure.”  
  
Shepard heard Josephine make a _tsk tsk_ sound in response as she moved into Shepard’s room. One of the Skyhold staff entered behind Josephine carrying a large, simple box and set it down on the end of Shepard’s bed before exiting the room.  
  
“I brought you something for this afternoon,” Josephine said with a knowing smirk.  
  
Shepard rolled her eyes. “Does everyone in Skyhold know about me and Cullen?”  
  
“Word in Skyhold travels fast, I am afraid,” Josephine laughed kindly. “We are having new clothes made for you, of course, but I thought that you could use this in advance.”  
  
Shepard took the lid off of the box and unfolded the simple paper to find something folded up inside. She carefully took it out of the box and unfolded what turned out to be a beautiful travelling cloak. It was absolutely stunning: a deep, emerald green, and it looked warm and sturdy—practical and beautiful. She tried it on immediately, revelling in the way in which it swished around her shoulders. It had a large, draping hood that she could use in poor weather.  
  
“I don’t know what to say. This is beautiful, Josephine.”  
  
“I had hoped that it would bring out your eyes. It looks like I was right,” she said. “Are you nervous about your date?”  
  
Shepard decided that she regretted telling Cullen that it was called a date, as everyone she spoke to unnecessarily emphasized the unfamiliar word. Every time Shepard heard someone say the word like that it would stand out immediately, as though she was suddenly more aware of the implications. The way that all said it made it sound as though it carried so much weight.  
  
“Commanders don’t get nervous,” Shepard responded sarcastically.  
  
“You should see Cullen right now. I think he might disprove that statement,” Josephine said with a knowing smile.  
  
“Fine, I might be a little nervous,” Shepard huffed.  
  
It was a small lie, as she was more than a little nervous about the implications of spending the afternoon with Cullen.  
  
“The two of you get on splendidly, and you have a lot in common. I don’t think you need to be worried,” Josephine said. “At any rate, I think it will be good for Cullen to get out of Skyhold. It will also give me the opportunity to set up his new office.”  
  
The diplomat exited the room soon after, leaving Shepard alone to prepare to meet Cullen. She brushed out her hair, the thick red layers now falling past her shoulders. She typically wore it in a knot at the back of her head—as per Alliance regulations—but opted to leave it down instead. She threw on the cloak that Josephine had given her before stepping out of her room and walking across the battlements before descending into the lower courtyard.  
  
Two horses were saddled and waiting when she approached the stable and Shepard saw Cullen giving their reins and saddles a final check. She was immediately struck by the fact that he was not wearing armour, instead dressed more simply in a heavy tunic and breeches with a sturdy leather coat overtop. In place of the ridiculous fur mantle he usually favoured was a heavy cloak, similar to her own, but in a deep wine-coloured red. Shepard laughed aloud, knowing that Josephine must have paid them both a visit that morning, and that the diplomat was making a statement.    
  
Cullen turned around when he heard her laugh and his face broke into a warm smile. Shepard was not sure what she should do in that instant; most of the dating protocol she was familiar with didn’t account for going on a first date with someone that you’ve already slept with. She returned his smile and added a warm hello.  
  
“I’m glad you made it,” Cullen said. “I hope you’re ready to set out immediately.”  
  
“You in a hurry, Rutherford? Do we have a reservation to get to?” Shepard joked.  
  
Cullen laughed, leaning toward her so that no one could overhear him. “I detest gossip. If one more person comes snooping around the courtyard I do not think I’ll be able to stop myself from letting them know exactly how I feel about it.”  
  
“Enough said,” Shepard responded with a smile, “Let’s go.”  
  
They climbed onto their horses and rode out of the front gates of Skyhold, finally slowing their pace when they were at least a mile away from the castle grounds. Shepard knew that they were headed south, but was still unsure of where they were going.  
  
“How far out are we headed? I didn’t pack an overnight bag,” she asks, winking at Cullen.  
  
His cheeks redden but he smiles back at her. “It is at least an hour away at our current pace, just down the mountain. We’ll have to ride through a bit of the woods, but the trail isn’t too difficult.”  
  
Shepard nods, not wanting to ruin the surprise. There is some part of her that revels in not knowing; this is a plan that she was not involved in creating, managing, or executing, and she feels relief. This is also the first time that she has left Skyhold since their arrival—and her imprisonment—and she is warmed by the thought that Cullen trusts her enough to take her outside of the castle walls. She wonders how closely Leliana’s scouts are following them, and finds herself scanning the tree line around them.  
  
“I did ask her for some privacy,” Cullen says, as if reading her thoughts. “They’ll give us space, but she insisted that the scouts occupy a loose perimeter. It was the only condition I was given.”  
  
Shepard notices the concerned look on his face as he speaks. She has no doubt that Leliana was against the entire thing in the first place, but wonders if Josephine might have been the one to assist with the situation. Shepard knows a romantic when she sees one and Josephine definitely fits the bill. The cloaks alone tell her everything she needs to know.  
  
“I understand,” she tells Cullen.  
  
They continue silently throughout the rest of the ride, the awareness of their being watched putting a bit of a damper on any further conversation. True to his prediction, they arrive within an hour. Shepard notices the trees thinning out as they come to a clearing, and when it opens up before them she is momentarily stunned by the sight of a large stone house. It is covered in vines, and one of the towers seemed to have lost the battle to time long ago, but the centre of the house still stands beautifully and defiantly in place.  
  
“This is amazing,” she says, climbing off of her horse.  
  
“I had hoped you would like it.” Cullen hitches their horses near the front of the house and removes some of the saddle bags before gesturing to the front door.  
  
Shepard pushes it open and it groans in protest of its use. They move through the vestibule and into a grand room. Inside the house is bare, the furniture having been long removed, but there is a large fireplace in the wall at the back of the room. While Shepard is taking in the vaulted ceilings and old chandeliers, Cullen crosses the room and immediately starts a fire. He unpacks a huge blanket and lays it out over the floor before pulling out some glasses and a bottle of wine.  
  
When Shepard finally returns to the present she is overcome by the sight of Cullen putting together a picnic in the midst of this mesmerizing, forgotten place, and she forgets to breath for a moment. Cullen walks toward her holding two glasses of wine and she feels the air returning to her lungs.  
  
“I hope that this is acceptable,” he says, handing her a glass. “I’ve never really done this before.”  
  
Shepard takes the glass and walks over to the blanket. They sit down across from each other, as she says, “To be honest, I haven’t really either.”  
  
She takes a sip of wine and notices Cullen’s look of surprise at her statement. She realizes that it is nice to be able to decide what to reveal about herself rather than being confronted with what someone they thinks they already know about her.  
  
“There is a very strict ‘no fraternization’ policy in the Alliance,” she explains, and he nods with understanding.  
  
“It is similar in the Circles, with templars and mages. Though that is not to say that it does not happen,” he says, taking a drink.  
  
“Did it happen for you?” Shepard asks, and Cullen coughs on his wine. He rubs the back of his neck, something that she has noticed he does when he is nervous.  
  
“I have never been with any mages, no. Aside from minor dalliances with other templars I have never actually been in a relationship. This might surprise you, but I am very involved with my work,” he laughs.  
  
Shepard laughs with him, a bit surprised by the joke. He seems so at ease here, outside of the Inquisition, the armour, the burden of command, and she wonders if he sees the same kind of energy in her.  
  
“Were you ever involved with anyone? If I may ask,” he questions softly.  
  
Shepard traces the rim of her glass, considering the question. It is such a loaded one that she feels the need to explain.  
  
“I lost my parents when I was young, grew up on the streets on earth, and enlisted as soon as I could. The Alliance was always my first love, and I poured everything into it. I was a damn good soldier, did everything that was asked of me. I cared about my crew—but I didn’t tell them anything that they didn’t already know about me. It was the one line I didn’t cross: don’t get too attached.”  
  
She takes a long drink of wine and Cullen waits patiently for her to continue.  
  
“I crossed that line once, and I paid for it. We were friends. We were working on the same ship, but he was from a different race and military organization, so it didn’t break any regulations. We were headed to a suicide mission and there wasn't much hope for our survival. We said that it was blowing off steam, but we both knew that there were feelings there. He knew me better than anyone else did, wanted more from it, but in the end I wasn’t brave enough to follow through on it. So he moved on with someone else and I carried on like a good soldier.”  
  
In her mind she can vividly picture that moment before London when she had walked into the main battery to see Tali and Garrus tangled up with one another. There had been rumours on the ship about the two of them and their newly formed relationship, but Shepard had desperately tried to ignore them. She hadn’t spoken to either of them about it, but that brief moment in the battery had confirmed everything that she had been trying to avoid knowing. Shepard didn’t have any right to be upset; she had been the one to break things off with Garrus in the first place.  
  
She drains her glass without looking at Cullen, internally cursing herself for being melancholic.  
  
“I can understand what it feels like to be consumed by the job,” Cullen says quietly. “I got lost in it so easily, especially when I was taking the lyrium. It changes you—it’s hard to feel capable of being anything else. But we can try.”  
  
Shepard studies his face. She knows with an aching certainty that he understands, and wonders if she should cross this line with him. A voice in the back of her mind tells her that she already has.  
  
“I’m not sure what your expectations are, but I try not to have any. I want to be honest with you about that,” she says. “I don’t want to have to define anything. That’s when things get complicated.”  
  
Cullen reaches forward and squeezes her hand as he had during their first night together.  
  
“This is all very new to me as well. We should not have to worry about overcomplicating it. We can continue to get to know one another and spend time together for as long as we enjoy doing so,” he says.  
  
“Alright, I can work with that,” she says, refilling her wine glass.  
  
The rest of the afternoon is surprisingly, achingly normal. He tells her more about Ferelden and the Blight that happened ten years ago, about the man they called ‘The Warden’, and the man that he made King. They talk about Cullen’s family—his siblings, Mia, Bran, and Rosalie—and the village where they all grew up. Shepard, who had wished for most of her life that she had even known her family, is surprised to hear that Cullen is very rarely in contact with his own, though Mia sends infrequent letters berating him for not writing more. It has been years since he has seen any of his family, he tells her.  
  
In turn, Shepard ends up telling Cullen about how advanced her world is, about the way in which technology rapidly overtook everything else and embedded itself into every day life. He is particularly interested in space travel, and amazed by the speed at which ships can traverse entire planets. She shares with him her particular fascination with building model ships, which he finds adorable and teases her about relentlessly.  
  
After a few hours their stomachs are grumbling and Cullen pulls out the food which he has packed for their dinner.  
  
Cullen smiles at her and says, “I didn’t know what you would want so I packed a bit of everything.”  
  
They open a second bottle of wine and work their way through it over the course of dinner, and Shepard finds herself laughing more than she can ever remember. The fire is warm and the wine is heady, and before either of them can register what is happening Shepard is straddling Cullen’s lap and he is wrapping his arms around her as they kiss. His lips are kind, his body solid and warm, and Shepard thinks that she would let this man consume her entirely. She deepens their kiss, running her tongue along his lips until they are both open mouthed and breathless. When they finally pull apart he rests his head on her shoulder and takes a deep breath before speaking.  
  
“I know that people will talk—are already talking—but I’d rather this be out in the open. I don't want to have to sneak around Skyhold, or always have to leave it to be able to spend time with you,” he says. “I know that we said no expectations, and I swear that I do not have any, but I want to be able to respect your boundaries and your privacy.”  
   
Boundaries is such deceptive word that the idea of it eludes her. She likes to think that she has always had boundaries, but now she has to wonder if they were actually restrictions. She is not sure what to say. It is easy to envision them eating dinner together and then returning to her room to lazily spend the evening in each other’s company, surveying one another’s bodies until exhaustion takes them and fall asleep curled up against one another. She is amazed to find that she wants this idea of them, against all of her better judgement, to be a reality, but she knows that there is no way to keep all of Skyhold from knowing.  
  
She can feel this moment slipping away from them as he waits for her to respond. He looks into her eyes, searching for that elusive answer to the question that is her. Shepard comes back to herself, to this beautiful moment with the handsome man in an ancient house, and wills herself to be the kind of brave that she has never been able to be before.  
  
“This,” she says, gesturing between them, “is something that I never could have expected.”  
  
His lips are pressed into a hard line and she realizes that he is preparing himself to be let down. She frames his face with her hands, looks directly into his eyes as she continues.  
  
“I don’t care who sees us, or what they say, but I don’t want us to have any expectations of one another. I don’t want us to try and predict where this will go because I think it will ruin it. I think I could ruin it,” she finishes.  
  
She moves her hands from his face and puts them on his shoulders, waiting.  
  
“I cannot stop thinking of you,” Cullen says. “I have no expectations of you, Jane. I am happy to spend whatever time that I can with you so long as you are comfortable with it.”  
  
“I can live with that,” she smiles. It is the truth, she realizes with relief. She wants this, wants him, and for now that is enough.  
  
Her arms tighten around him as they pull each other closer, mouths meeting as though they are magnetic, and she slowly presses him backward onto the blanket. Then their hands are fumbling for the fastenings of their clothes and she realizes that they will not be leaving tonight.


	22. Josephine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inquisition's diplomat shares recent events.

She finished off the last of her correspondence quickly and efficiently, leaving the required letters sealed and waiting in the appropriate location for her assistant to pick up, before preparing for the meeting in the war room. With the Inquisitor set to arrive back from the Western Approach it was imperative that all trivial concerns were taken care of quickly and quietly so that they could focus on more important business.   
  
Josephine straightened her skirt before taking her clipboard and quill and setting off down the hallway from her office. She knew that Leliana was already there, but had not yet seen Commander Cullen. When she opened the door she found the spymaster bent over the war table reviewing some of the ongoing operations.   
  
“Good morning,” Josephine called cheerily.   
  
“Morning Josie. Have you seen Cullen, or am I to assume he will be late this morning? I understand that he spent the night in Shepard’s quarters again.”   
  
“Oh Leli, please, do you still need to spy on them?”   
  
In the four months since the Inquisitor had pardoned Shepard it had been no secret that she and Commander Cullen had developed some kind of romantic liaison. It had begun subtly enough, but something so visible was difficult to keep a secret in the Inquisition. It became fast news, particularly due to Cullen’s elevated position and the fact that Shepard had been so recently imprisoned. Josephine thought it rather sweet that the two Commanders were kindred spirits, and was also in favour of anything that eased Cullen’s personal burdens. Craftsmen were still in the process of repairing that hole in the ceiling of his loft, so it was just as well that he spent most nights with Shepard.  
  
Leliana had not been as approving. She had had the pair under constant surveillance by her more trusted scouts, receiving reports of their behaviour on a regular basis. Leliana was still unsure of Shepard after what had been reported from the Inquisitor’s trip to the breach and so she was extra vigilant.   
  
“I am unsure of her intentions, Josie. What better position to be in than directly under the Commander of the Inquisition,” Leliana said with a raised eyebrow.   
  
Josephine rolled her eyes at the very pointed double entendre. Over the course of the past months Shepard had been integrated into the training and supervision of the Inquisition's soldiers, which allowed for Cullen to focus his attention to more administrative tasks. Shepard seemed like a solid candidate for the role as she was a fair teacher and a strong leader. Josephine in particular felt that Shepard and Cullen made a good team.   
  
“For what it is worth, I think that she genuinely cares for him.”  
  
“You always try to see the best in people, Josie.”   
  
“A key element of diplomacy, to be sure,” Josephine smiled. “I like Shepard. I think that she is an asset, and I think that the Inquisitor will echo my sentiment.”  
  
Leliana rolled her eyes. “I’m going to be outnumbered, I’m sure.”  
  
The towering wooden door was pushed open as Cullen entered the room, trying to comb back his hair with his fingers. He shut the door behind him and approached the table as he issued hasty good morning greetings to the two other advisors.   
  
“You’re late. I understand that Rylen oversaw morning training,” Leliana said.   
  
“I’m right on time,” Cullen said, “And I had other matters to attend this morning.”  
  
“I can only imagine what those might have been,” Leliana responded pointedly.  
  
Josephine noticed that his mouth was turned up at the corners, as though he were fighting a grin. It made her glad to know that he was able to focus his energy on something other than work. She was not officially supposed to know that Cullen was no longer taking lyrium, or that he was suffering through the symptoms of withdrawal, but it was something that she and Leliana were both aware of. They did not speak to him about it openly, and Cullen did not let it interfere with his position as Commander. If Shepard helped to ease that pain, and was willing to work through the process with him, all the better.  
  
“Shall we get started?” Josephine interjected, gesturing to the stack of reports on the table. She was happy to divert the conversation elsewhere.   
  
“I have received the scouting reports from Adamant fortress, and the Inquisitor's information is correct: it seems the Wardens have been stationed there under Clarel’s command. We will need to consider plans of attack and have recommendations prepared for the Inquisitor,” Leliana began.   
  
“I have started drafting the plans and would be happy to give you a preliminary review,” Cullen said.   
  
They spent the better part of an hour drafting an assault plan for the Inquisitor to assess upon his return and then moved on to minor updates and information. They were nearing the better part of three hours by the time they had finished.   
  
“Other business?” Josephine asked, anticipating an end to the meeting.   
  
Cullen cleared his throat. “I have a concern that I would like to bring forth to the two of you, and hope that you will treat it with the utmost confidence and discretion.”  
  
“Of course,” Josephine said. Leliana nodded in agreement.   
  
“I have important information regarding what happened during the attempt to close the breach. Shepard and I have spoken at length, and I think that we need to further investigate Solas—,” he raised a hand to silence Leliana’s anticipated interruption. “He was the one who suggested that Shepard attempt to go through the breach back to her own time, and it seems that he had taken an interest in studying her abilities and her world through Shepard’s memories and dreams in the fade.”  
  
Josephine began scribbling a few notes to remind herself to see what information they had regarding Solas’ genealogy, or his place of origin. She noticed Leliana give Cullen a skeptical look, and waited to see if she would need to intervene.  
  
“This coming from the woman who attacked the Inquisitor directly,” Leliana said pointedly.   
  
“She wasn’t trying to hurt anyone,” Cullen said. He tightly gripped the pommel of his sword. “Solas had told her that this was her one chance to get home and she was desperate to take it. We cannot blame her for being misled.”  
  
“How do we know that we can trust this information? She could be manipulating you.”   
  
“She’s not,” Cullen responded through clenched teeth.   
  
“We can reevaluate the information that we already have, and it would not be unwise to investigate these new claims. Though you are correct in acknowledging that this is a delicate matter, and we will be sure to handle it appropriately,” Josephine finished, smiling at Leliana. “Meeting adjourned.”  
  
Cullen turned on his heel and strode out of the war room quickly. Josephine heard Leliana scoff as she collected the necessary reports from the table. Josephine finished her own notes before turning to address her friend.   
  
“I understand that you do not like the woman, nor do you trust her, but must you take it out on Cullen?”  
  
“Josie, he is the Commander of the Inquisition and he should act accordingly. We know hardly anything about this woman, save for the fact that she claims to come from another world, yet she has so easily found her way into Cullen’s bed.”  
  
“Leli, she has been here just as long as Inquisitor Trevelyan has and you trust him. Perhaps you should talk to her. You may discover that you like her.”  
  
With that Josephine left the room, unwilling to continue the conversation regarding Cullen’s relationship. The information regarding Solas was far more concerning and it would be best looked into before he returned to Skyhold with the Inquisitor.   
  
When Trevelyan and his companions had been dispatched to Crestwood they had not anticipated that the mission would demand a journey to the Western Approach, and as such they had been away from Skyhold for a very long time. Josephine thought it best that the inner circle of the Inquisitor’s companions be present for a nice dinner together in order to raise their spirits and reconvene as a group.  
  
Before dinner was set to begin Josephine was sure to check in with the cooks, and took one final survey of the place settings to make sure that they were done appropriately. She had even gone so far as to create a seating chart and place cards, though when she entered the dining room she found that they had not been adhered to in the least. She rolled her eyes as she walked around the table, ensuring that the first course had been dispensed without delay.   
  
“Sit down Josephine,” the Inquisitor called from the head of the table.   
  
“It’s hardly a party without you my dear,” Dorian chimed in. The handsome mage was sitting at the Inquisitor’s right hand, and it was impossible to miss the way that he glowed, as if the place was meant for him. Josephine could not help the smile that crossed her face; it seemed that love was in the air.   
  
“There’s an open chair here, my lady,” Blackwall called from the middle of the table.   
  
Josephine sat down next to him, uttering a polite thank you as she surveyed the impromptu seating arrangements. Solas sat to the other side of Warden Blackwall, Sera sat next to the Iron Bull—and the pair would no doubt make trouble throughout dinner—Vivienne sat at the end of the table opposite the Inquisitor, and she was not surprised to see that Cullen and Shepard sat together. Cassandra was seated next to Varric, by choice it seemed, which _did_ surprise her. The pair seemed barely able to contain their vitriol for one another in the best of times, and yet they were civilly seated next to one another for dinner.   
  
Her train of thought was interrupted when the Inquisitor stood to address the group.   
  
“My friends, it has been some time since we have all been here together, and I am glad to be back in Skyhold. I am glad to see that you are all in good spirits: especially you, Commander Cullen,” here he paused, winking, and the cheer that went up from the table interrupted him for a moment, “because I am afraid that we will need to try and maintain those spirits. Now I don’t mean to put a damper on the evening. In fact I think it would be in our best interests to get astoundingly drunk and have a wonderful time, but I must warn you that we will shortly be departing to assault Adamant Fortress in the Western Approach. It will be a difficult test for the Inquisition, but I believe that together we can triumph, and that you are the greatest group of folks that I could ever imagine marching into battle with.”   
  
With that, the Inquisitor raised his glass to toast the table, and his companions heartily joined him. Dinner began without issue, and Josephine was slowly able to relax once dessert had been served. By the end of it she even found herself slipping into the reverie of the evening and was able to abandon her clipboard entirely. 


	23. Here Lies the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inquisition attacks Adamant fortress.

Shepard had been a soldier a long time but she had never experienced anything like the march of an entire army of cavalry, war machines, and foot soldiers. Military history had been a core component of the Alliance’s basic training, and the history of particular formations and strategies had been thoroughly outlined, but they had always existed to her as theory rather than practice. The Alliance was a navy operation and its focus was ships, so the Inquisition was rather a marvel to her. It was a well-organized production, managed primarily by Commander Cullen and his lieutenants, and Shepard was thoroughly impressed.  
  
The trip to the Western Approach typically took about ten days with good mounts, if your entire party was riding, but for the whole of the Inquisition’s forces to arrive it would take more than double that amount of time. The Inquisitor had gone ahead to the Approach’s forward camp with a small party that included Hawke and Warden Stroud while the rest of his inner circle travelled with the army, and the standing forces of Skyhold were left to guard it under the command of Leliana and Josephine.  
  
During the preparations for their departure Cullen had attempted to persuade Shepard to stay behind in Skyhold, but she quickly countered the idea. She knew that she was a valuable asset and a good soldier. Throughout the months since their first date, Shepard and Cullen had developed a solid understanding of one another, both personally and professionally, and as far as most of the Inquisition’s soldiers were concerned Shepard was Cullen’s second-in-command. The two Commanders complimented each other, offering different perspectives and a variation of combat training for their recruits, and were well-respected for their ability to work together. Shepard was itching to go into the field and supervise the soldiers that she had helped to personally train. She told Cullen as much, and after a bit of prodding he caved to her request.  
  
She relished the opportunity to prove her worth and worked tirelessly to assist in the management of the march to the Western Approach, realizing how much she missed the day-to-day aspects of being a soldier. She liked being able to contribute and had desperately missed the sense of order and routine. She and Cullen managed the entire production effectively and capably.  
  
Shepard was surprised when Cassandra had told her as much only days after riding out from Skyhold. Shepard was riding in the centre company of foot soldiers when Cassandra strode up beside her on an imposing black mount.  
  
“I have been meaning to speak to you since we reached Skyhold,” the woman began, “but I was dispatched with the Inquisitor and have hardly been present. I was very angry about what happened at the breach, as I am sure you are aware.”  
  
Shepard noticed that Cassandra’s words were not said with the typically sharp bite of her accent, and hoped that this was a good sign.  
  
“Of course, and I understand why—,” Shepard began, but Cassandra silenced her with a stern look.  
  
“Please let me finish. I have been thinking about this a long time and I would like to say it while I can. I do not have the same way with words that Varric does.” She took a deep breath, turning  so that she was facing Shepard directly as she spoke.   
“I cannot condone your actions, but I believe that I have misjudged them, and you. I understand that you were attempting to return to your own world, your home, and that you may have been afraid to share that information with us. Since your pardon from the Inquisitor it seems you have been devoted to assisting with the management of the Inquisition’s forces without complaint, and I can appreciate your dedication. I am sorry for my swift judgement at the Breach, and I hope that we can continue as colleagues.”  
  
“And as friends?” Shepard said hopefully. She held no ill will toward Cassandra, and had in fact dreaded the prospect of conversation with her from the moment that she had been imprisoned. She was surprised by the Seeker’s apology, but infinitely glad of it.  
  
“I would like that,” Cassandra replied.  
  
During the rest of the march west Shepard found her self spending more time with Cassandra, and she was glad that they could rebuild their rapport. The camping was probably her favourite part of the journey, as the members of the inner circle travelling with the army would often regroup in the evenings for wine and ale around the fire, talking and joking throughout the evening. It reminded her of late nights spent in the mess hall or at the bar in Kasumi’s room on the Normandy.  
  
Shepard was glad that Solas was travelling ahead with the Inquisitor as she was trying to spend as little time near him as possible. Over the course of the past few months Cullen had asked her what she had meant about Solas instigating her action at the Breach, and eventually she had told him of their conversations. He had suggested asking the other advisors that they carefully investigate the elven apostate, and Shepard agreed, though she was not sure that anything would turn up. Solas was intelligent and manipulative—a lethal combination—so she knew that they would need to tread lightly. For now she pushed it out of her mind and was glad that he had not been present to put a damper on their evening campfires.  
  
The Inquisition had been lucky enough to have fair weather throughout their journey and made it to the Western Approach in twenty-six days time. They set up camp a fair distance from the fortress and met to go over the battle plan once more before their assault was set to commence that evening. After going over the relevant information and dismissing the lieutenants, the only members who remained were the Inquisitor, Cassandra, Shepard, and Cullen.  
  
“Who will you be taking with you tonight, my lord?” Cullen asked as he collected his materials from the command table.  
  
“Oh for the love of the Maker Cullen, can’t you call me Trevelyan? Or at least desist with the ‘my lord’ nonsense,” Trevelyan laughed. “Anyway, I will be taking Dorian, Lady Vivienne, and Blackwall.”  
  
Cullen nodded his agreement.  
  
“You and Dorian are just attached at the hip these days, aren’t you?” Shepard teased, smiling.  
  
Trevelyan opened his mouth in mock insult and feigned his offence at her comment.  
“Not unlike you and Cullen,” Cassandra said smoothly, and it was Shepard’s turn to look offended. Cassandra gave her a small smirk of amusement before continuing their conversation. “I recommend that the remaining group of the Inquisitor’s companions assist you with the front lines.”  
  
Cullen affirmed that this was what he was thinking as well.  
  
“I assume that includes me?” Shepard asked.  
  
She was surprised when he did not immediately agree. Instead he was staring down at the map intently while he offhandedly said, “You will be remaining in camp to oversee the healing tents and supplies, as well as the auxiliary troops.”  
  
“Very funny.” Out of the corner of her eye Shepard noticed Trevelyan biting his lower lip as he apprehensively looked to Cullen. She refocused on Cullen, noting the way that he was trying not to look directly at her.  
  
“You’ve got to be joking,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “I can fight damn well and I’ve been working with these troops for months. If you’re all going to the front, I should be too.”  
  
She stepped toward the table and Cullen looked up at her with a stern expression. They were squaring off with each other now, and she wasn’t one to stand down from questioning what she felt were bad orders.  
  
“This isn’t practice drills, Shepard. This is very real combat, and it is combat that you aren’t experienced with,” Cullen said pointedly. “You’re still working on your technique with daggers, and you aren’t fast enough with a bow. You should be better prepared with a weapon before we add you to the vanguard forces.”  
  
Shepard felt the betrayal of his words prickle across her skin. She had been working damned hard over the past few months, and she deserved to fight as much as the rest of them. It was becoming more difficult to maintain what was supposed to be a calm facade.  
  
“I don’t need your weapons,” she said, letting her biotics flare.  
  
She had used them briefly during her first spar with Cullen back in Haven, but he had never seen them openly. She noted the split-second fear that flickered across his eyes. The energy ceased just as quickly as she had summoned it, but she felt that she had made her point. The atmosphere in the tent was tense, with Cassandra and Trevelyan present as innocent bystanders unable to move.  
  
Shepard took a deep breath to calm herself. “You know that it is a waste to have me waiting in camp when you don’t know what you’re up against in there. I’m one of few people in this whole damn camp that’s actually been up against a fight this size. At least put me somewhere that I can actually help!”  
  
“I gave you your orders,” Cullen said sharply, “The expectation is that you follow them.”   
  
Expectation—the word hung in the air between them for the briefest moment, stopping her in her tracks. It was the one thing that they had promised to avoid, and so far they had kept to it. Shepard had been integrated into Cullen’s team with little issue and, though everyone in Skyhold knew it, no one had said much about the fact that Cullen spent most nights in Shepard’s room. They hadn’t returned to that conversation again after their first date, and she had naively thought that they would not have to.  
  
It struck her in that moment that expectation was a lot like wanting. Perhaps her expectation was wanting something that she couldn’t have, and similarly his expectation had been wanting her. She was realizing now that she had always drawn lines between herself and others for a reason.  
  
“Is that _expectation_ coming from the Commander or the man that I’m sleeping with?” Shepard spat back at him.  
  
She could tell when a well placed shot hit the mark and this one definitely had. Cullen looked as though she had slapped him. This was when Trevelyan attempted to intervene.  
  
“I am certain that Commander Cullen would not let your personal situation interfere,” the Inquisitor interjected, trying to deflate the argument. Shepard knew that he was a casualty, and he looked at her pleadingly.    
  
“Fine,” Shepard conceded angrily. “I may as well spend the day preparing with the healers. I hope that I won’t have to see any of you later.”  
  
She turned to storm out of the tent but was stopped abruptly when Cullen caught her arm.  
  
“Shepard—,” he pleaded, but she cut him off immediately. It was unfair of him to make it personal. Anger was burning through her veins now, and she reacted instinctually. When she addressed him now she knew that she wore the patented snarl that her enemies were so accustomed to.  
  
“I realize now that this is probably why fraternization regulations exist. You can’t escape expectations and it’s too easy to blur the lines. You could at least be honest about it, Rutherford.” She wrenched her arm away from him and left the tent without another word, stalking away as quickly as she could.  
  
She heard footsteps following closely behind her, and it did not take long for the Seeker’s long legs to match Shepard’s strides and catch up to her.  
  
“If you’ve come to echo Cullen then I really don’t want to hear it Cass.” She slowed her steps, the fury of her retreat dissipating with each step.  
  
Cassandra shook her head. “I only want to make sure that you are alright.”  
  
Shepard stopped, seeking out a somewhat private place for them to speak in. “Do you agree with him?”  
  
She knew that Cassandra was honest to a fault, so she wanted to hear what her thoughts were on the matter.  
  
Cassandra hesitated for a moment. “I do not wish to get involved. As you said, it seems the lines are blurred. I know that you are capable and can handle yourself, but I can understand Cullen’s position, considering he has never seen you in a proper fight.”  
  
“We’ve got far greener recruits than me being sent to the front. Cullen’s never seen them in a proper fight because they’ve never been in one. I’ve been a soldier for more than a decade,” Shepard scoffed, crossing her arms.  
  
“This is the first time that you have both been presented with this situation. Though he is unable to admit it, it would seem that he cannot reconcile his feelings for you and his duty as Commander,” Cassandra reasoned.  
  
“He should.”  
   
“Could you?” Cassandra asked honestly.  
  
“I always have!” The response flew out of her mouth without a thought, as though it were a reflexive reaction. “That’s the job: you make the hard choices and feelings don’t matter. They _can’t_ matter.”  
  
Shepard considered the idea that she may be a bit jealous of Cullen’s position within the Inquisition. Aside from joking around about it, hardly anyone in the Inquisition batted an eyelash at the fact that Shepard and Cullen were involved with one another. Aside from Leliana’s suspicions about Shepard’s motives, their relationship was entirely accepted. Perhaps Shepard could have gotten away with a relationship with Garrus, but that would have been near the end of the Reaper War when no one had time to care. After everything was said and done, if she had somehow survived, she still would have been an Alliance solider and a Council Spectre. Things would have been complicated and she was trying to spare both of them that. Perhaps Cullen should have tried to spare her. Or she never should have gotten involved in the first place.  
  
_You knew that this would happen._ The thought came from somewhere in the back of her mind and she pushed it away as best she could.    
  
To her credit, Cassandra had taken Shepard’s outburst in stride. Her eyes narrowed, considering what Shepard had said.  
  
“You are remaining in camp to oversee healers, supplies, and troops. That does not mean you cannot leave your post should you be required to attend the front line during battle,” Cassandra said, and Shepard fully understood her meaning. “I shall leave you to prepare for this evening. Maker go with you.”  
  
Shepard smiled at the Seeker and bid her farewell. She did not want to return to the private space of her tent, where Cullen might expect her to go, so instead she sought out the main healers tents to fulfill her orders and wait for an opportunity to present itself.  
  
  
  
It finally came after the main walls had been breached and the Inquisitor had made his way onto the battlements. The healers remained behind the main force and the auxiliary troops assisted them in taking in the those wounded from the front. Shepard was helping direct the chaos when she heard one of the injured soldiers shouting that the front gates were being overwhelmed and that the Inquisition was having trouble getting more soldiers through. It was all the invitation she needed. She asked one of the more responsible soldiers to take point with the healers and she took off for the main gates of the fortress.  
  
It was an absolute mess. The battering ram had done its work well, but the number of bodies strewn around it suggested that there had been a high cost. When she entered the gate she found a few soldiers pinned down by groups of demons. Shepard hit them with a singularity field and pulled them helplessly into the air so that the soldiers could regroup. They were able to press the advantage that Shepard had give them and dispatched their enemies quickly. They continued forward, moving against the roving demons that were attempting to flank the front party. Shepard was maintaining her energy by assisting the battle rather than dominating it, using her biotics in tandem with the soldier’s weapons. Her small group collected soldiers as they went, eventually finding the main contingent near the centre of the keep.  
  
The smoke was thick and hot, and the area around them was commanded by demons. Shepard’s group immediately flanked them in an surprise attack, taking out as many of them as they could before they were detected. The demons turned on them then, lunging forward at speed. She could feel the blood and adrenaline pumping through her body and the eezo of her biotics danced across her skin. Shepard was as ruthless on the battlefield as she was graceful, and when the last demon had been felled there was a momentary reprieve.  
  
“Where is the rest of the group?” Shepard asked one of the soldiers that they had just assisted.  
  
“Moving through to the keep, Ser. Commander Cullen has them covering the Inquisitor’s main attack.”  
  
“Get the wounded back to the infirmary immediately. Those of you still able to fight, regroup here  and hold this position. I need at least four of you to come with me,” Shepard barked out. The soldiers fell in line.  
  
When Shepard and her small group moved forward toward the keep they were surprised to see how much damage had been done. Demons seemed to be pouring in from everywhere.They did what they could, moving in and striking quickly and quietly before the demons could catch on to their strategy. The group was pressing their advantage when Shepard finally caught sight of Cullen’s fur coat.  
  
He was with two other soldiers and they were being flanked up against the main wall of the central keep by two nasty looking demons that seemed to be accompanied by a Grey Warden mage.  Shepard worked to help the soldiers while keeping Cullen’s group in her peripheral vision. Cullen was managing, but the soldiers standing with him were not fairing so well. One of them seemed to be injured, leaning against the wall as Cullen put himself between the soldier and the demons. The other soldier was facing the Warden head on, and Shepard watched as the mage struck him down with a sharp bolt of lightening. With Cullen backed into a corner and it being three against one, the odds were not in his favour. The Warden mage was turning his staff blade and charging at Cullen, and Shepard reacted without another thought.  
  
Shepard used a biotic throw to finish off the demon she was currently fighting, knowing that the soldiers could handle the rest. She used her biotics to lift the demons closing in on Cullen, then forced herself into a biotic charge, closing the distance between them and appearing between Cullen and the mage’s blade. The mage had thrown out some kind of spell and it ripped through Shepard’s barrier so that the blade could find its mark. It caught her just under the ribs, piercing through her side. Shepard yelled, blasting the mage backward with a powerful shockwave that instantly made her dizzy. She pulled the staff free with a sickening sound, leaning back against the wall and pressing her hand over the now exposed wound.  
  
She wonders if this is anything like what Thane felt when he was run through by Kai Leng’s katana. She knew it was bad; the blade had gone clean through. She is sliding down the wall and slumps over, her head spinning.  
  
“We need a healer now!” she hears Cullen yell.  
  
He is on his knees in front of her trying to pull her hands away so that he can look at the wound. She can feel the warm blood flooding across her stomach and she knows how bad it looks.    
  
“What in the Maker’s fucking name are you doing here? You aren’t supposed to be here!”  
  
He is frantic and there is shouting going on around them. Her vision is blurring but she can see that the area near the keep had been cleared and knows that Cullen is safe.  
  
“No one else could get to you in time,” Shepard says, her words slurring together.  
  
“Bloody hell, where is that healer?” Cullen says aloud, grabbing her shoulders. “Stay with me Jane, please stay with me. This isn’t supposed to happen—no, don’t close your eyes. Jane—.”  
  
He is shaking her, but her eyelids are heavy and she hears her breath coming out as a gurgling wheeze. It doesn’t sound promising. Cullen’s face is a fuzzy outline now, all detail obscured as her body begins to fail. She clumsily reaches a bloody hand out to his chest, placing it right over his heart.  

“I couldn’t lose you too,” she manages to cough out as everything fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :-O Probably not where you saw this going ?


	24. Scars are Souvenirs You Never Lose

Rain had always reminded Shepard of earth. The sound if it tapping on window panes or massive drops of it smacking the ground could never be replicated in space. The Citadel was able to generate synthetic variations of weather for the sake of variety, and it was not as if it did not rain on other planets, but it always seemed different enough to be inauthentic to Shepard; always a poor imitation of what it evoked. She had avoided spending time on earth after joining the Alliance, although her most frequent destination there was Vancouver, where it rained so often that it kept the memory of its sound and smell alive in her mind.  
  
Shepard stood very still as she looked out over False Creek from the window of Alliance headquarters, watching the rain track across it in fast-moving streaks. The sky was such a gloomy grey that she could see her reflection in the rain-covered glass, the yellow Admiral’s bars on her uniform appearing as a prominent feature in contrast. Her office was far larger than it needed to be, with a solid wooden desk and a collection of books that looked as though they had never been touched. They may even be fake, considering the decline of print over the past decades. There was nothing personal in the room, nothing to suggest that the person who occupied it had anything worth noting outside of their position with the Alliance. It was all such an eerie facade.   
  
“It’s the rain that gives it away,” Shepard said aloud. “It’s not the same.”   
  
“Few things here are,” Solas responded, his reflection appearing beside her in the window.  
  
Shepard turned to face the elven mage who was regarding her with straight-faced curiosity. She was confused by his being here, inherently knowing that he did not belong, but her mind drew a blank, as though trying to recall something that she had forgotten. Solas seemed amused by her struggle, and eventually he spoke.   
  
“You have a keen instinct for someone who has so little knowledge of the fade,” he said.  
  
Everything seemed foggy in her mind and she could not remember how she came to be in this room, or why she was dressed as an Admiral. The more she focused on it, the more the edges of the room blurred, losing their sharpness. It did not feel like a dream but it reminded her of one. She tried to remember how she arrived there, tried to think of all that she knew of the fade. It had been described as the realm of dreams, or the place where souls pass after death, and was occupied by spirits and demons alike. Shepard understood that mages had a particular tie to the fade through magic, but the rules of it eluded her; it was something which she could not quite wrap her head around.  
  
A searing pain crosses her abdomen and she touches it with her palm. When she pulls her hand away to look at it she finds it covered in blood. Flashes of memory come back to her. Thinking about what happened at Adamant is disorienting. The pieces of it elude her the more she tries to put them together. She remembers a sharp blade.   
  
“I was stabbed—I saved Cullen.”  
  
“It was an undisciplined maneuver and you were sloppy. A foolish mistake,” Solas replies harshly.  
  
“I needed to make sure that he would be okay. He shouldn’t have told me to stay behind,” Shepard says.   
  
She feels her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t regret disobeying Cullen’s orders in the least, but she sees a flash of his panicked face in her mind and she worries about him for a brief moment. Solas is regarding her with intense curiosity and it makes Shepard uncomfortable. She still doesn’t know why he is here.   
  
“I’m dying.”   
  
Solas nods, but says nothing. Shepard looks at her own reflection in the glass before she takes a moment to look around the office and uses the opportunity to change the subject.  
  
“This is the fade,” Shepard says slowly, realizing that things seem distorted when she looks at them too closely. “It’s some kind of projection?”   
  
Solas seems unable to stop himself from sharing his knowledge with her. “The fade shows projections of ourselves, our hopes, desires, fears. Your interaction with the fade feels different, and I do not know if it is because you are not of this world or if it is because you are without a strong sense of your emotions. I have not seen something like this before.”   
  
Shepard thinks that she understands what he means. The office that they are in is so impersonal and cold, just as Shepard herself seems, standing alone with the rain beading on the windows. Perhaps the only suggestion of an aspiration is the fact that Shepard is wearing an Admiral’s uniform. Admiral Shepard standing alone in her Alliance headquarters office: she cannot tell if this is a hope, desire or fear.  
  
“So are you actually here?” Shepard asks Solas. “I don’t think you would be my first choice to join me in my imagination.”   
  
“As you have so astutely pointed out, you are dying. I am using a very old kind of magic to preserve you in a sleep state while healing your body.  Most wounds have been addressed, yet you do not wake. I had come into the fade to find you.”   
  
“How?” she asks.   
  
“Mages have a special tie to the fade, and myself more than most.” He does not say anything else and she knows that is the best answer that she is going to get from him.   
  
Shepard turns away from him and walks over to the large desk, sitting down in the chair. It feels comfortable in its own way, though she cannot imagine herself choosing an office over a ship. Data pads are stacked neatly in the corner waiting to be reviewed, a fresh cup of coffee sitting on a coaster beside them. She opens the main drawer of the desk to find medals thrown into it haphazardly, along with a few other trinkets that don’t tell her much about this version of her life. She wonders if she has truly become so compartmentalized that this singular understanding of herself is her greatest desire.  
  
 Solas is still standing by the window silently watching her interact with her surroundings. His expression is as unreadable as ever and it frustrates her. She wishes that she knew what he was thinking, or at least had some insight into the game that he was playing. She does not want to give him any further ammunition.   
  
Shepard takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself as she thinks of something more comfortable and familiar. She closes her eyes and imagines her cabin on the Normandy just as she had left it. She easily conjures up the images of her model ships, her fish swimming lazily in their tank, and the sprawling bed that often made her feel lonely rather than comfortable. When she opens her eyes again she and Solas are standing in the centre of her cabin and she is wearing her N7 hoodie.  
  
She looks at Solas, who seems to be losing his composure. “How did you do that?” he asks incredulously, scanning the room.  
  
 Shepard shrugs her shoulders and does not answer. She knows that Solas is the kind of man who needs to understand things, to pull them apart and have them make sense to him. She does not want to give him that kind of power.  
  
“Why are you here, Solas?”  
  
“You are stuck in the fade and I have sought you out. All of this is a representation of you and I cannot remove you from it. You must decide to leave,” Solas explains in frustration.   
  
“I’m surprised that you would volunteer to help me at all. I thought I might be a liability for you,” Shepard says pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest.   
  
The mage narrows his eyes at her for the briefest moment before standing at ease, straight faced. “Commander Cullen was rather distraught. I hold no ill will against him and thought I would assist. He cannot be blamed for his inability to reconcile his feelings for you.”  
  
Shepard knows that he is baiting her and she tries to remain calm, but she cannot help the way that her hands curl into fists at her sides.  
  
“Do you blame Cullen for his weakness in regards to you? I am surprised, considering your sad campfire story about the lover you had pushed away. It seems a bit hypocritical.”  
  
It takes a moment for his words to register. That night on the Storm Coast feels a though it happened ages ago, when she had been so determined to get home—before she and Cullen had gotten close to one another. She tries not to give Solas the satisfaction of her reaction.   
  
“Should you fail to wake up, you will most certainly die after I remove you from the spell and time passes.”   
  
Shepard ignores him as she presses a hand to the glass of her fish tank and takes in her reflection just as she had in the Alliance office. This one doesn’t seem quite right either. She looks around the room at all of the things that are supposed to represent her in this space and she realizes that it doesn’t say much. It says soldier, Alliance Navy, Commander, N7: it gives her rank and not much else. There is nothing personal in this space aside from a collection of model ships, which could be considered an extension of her identity as a naval officer. Shepard wonders at her own complacency as she is confronted by her inability to determine what it is that she wants.  
  
She feels the shift before she can see it, but suddenly the space changes again. Shepard finds herself standing alone in the middle of the living room of Anderson’s apartment on the Citadel, and even though she doubts that it actually survived the destruction of the Crucible, she is willing to suspend her disbelief and try and enjoy a few moments in the comfort of the space. She realizes that there is very old jazz music playing through the speakers, and hears noise coming from the bar on the other side of the open room. She walks over to investigate and stops dead in her tracks.  
  
“Shepard,” his warm, familiar voice calls, “C’mon in! I wasn’t expecting you, but I’m glad you stopped by.”   
  
She is frozen by the impossibility of it, knows that she must be imagining him standing there behind the bar, uncorking a bottle of his favourite scotch. She sees him put two whiskey tumblers down on the counter as he says, “Well don’t just stand there soldier.”  
  
Solas has disappeared, but Shepard does not have the capacity to process what that means. She cannot find her voice, but finds herself walking toward the one person that she respects more than anyone in the world. She goes behind the bar and throws her arms around him and presses herself against his chest, trying to tell herself that he is real.   
  
Anderson laughs as he pats her on the back. “You’re alright child. It’s all going to be alright.”   
  
She cannot stop the tears and she does not care. She cries and stutters out half-formed apologies as best she can. Finally she is spent, takes a step back, and Anderson rests his hands on her shoulders while telling her, “You could use a drink.”   
  
She sits down at the bar and drains the glass he puts in front of her before she is able to attempt speaking a full sentence.   
  
“This isn’t possible,” she says.  
  
Anderson shrugs his shoulders and refills her glass. “You and I know too much about things that ‘aren’t possible’ to care about that, Shepard.”   
  
His voice is as smooth as she remembers, and when he smiles she can see the familiar lines of his face deepen. She is taken in by the comfort of the room and runs a hand across the top of the bar before looking back at Anderson. He has that familiar squint that tells her he has something to say, and he does not waste much time getting it out.  
  
“You gonna tell me why it is you’re hanging around here instead of being where you should be?” he asks as he leans forward over the top of the bar.   
  
Shepard scoffs at the statement before she takes another drink. “I’ve got no idea where I should be, Anderson.”   
  
He raises an eyebrow at her knowingly and asks, “Y’sure about that?” Anderson stares at her silently, unmoving, and she finds herself in a standoff. Eventually, she loses.  
  
“It’s crazy,” she says finally, “The whole thing is absolutely nuts. Seems like I’m in some kind of alternate dimension or something, and so far nobody’s asking me to save the world. Nothing’s resting on my shoulders—what am I supposed to do? Live my life? I don’t even know what that means.”   
  
Shepard taps at the side of her glass impatiently, urging Anderson to refill it. He uncorks the bottle again but stops right before he is about to pour.   
  
“I put myself on hold to be a soldier, and for the most part I was okay with that. I’m proud of the life I lived, but I can’t say that I don’t have regrets.” He pauses here and Shepard knows that he’s referring to his interrupted relationship with Kahlee Sanders. Anderson fills her glass as he finishes his thought. “All I’m saying is, you can afford to be selfish, Shepard. You don’t owe anyone a damned thing, so what do you want?”  
  
“I don’t know!” she says, squeezing her hands tightly around her glass glass. “I’m a soldier, Anderson. I’ve been a soldier for so long that I don’t think I know how to be a person. I don’t know who the person that I am trying to be is.”  
  
Anderson reaches over and gently places his hand on her arm, and she knows that he understands exactly what she means.   
    
“Only one way to find out, Shepard. Just have to figure out if you’re willing to try.”  
  
She was trying to slow the steady stream of thoughts that were racing through her mind. Should she be willing to stay in Thedas and attempt to live life in a place that was so different to where she came from? Would she really want to continue on in the Inquisition, or choose to leave and live a life in some small village? Or she could pass peacefully on from the fade, wherever that would lead her. She rolls the amber coloured liquid around her glass and for a moment the warmth of it reminds her of Cullen’s eyes. She tips her glass back and finishes it quickly, cutting off her thoughts.  
  
“No harm in trying, I guess,” she says, turning the glass upside down and setting it on the bar.  
  
“Damn right,” Anderson responds, walking out from behind the bar. Shepard steps off her bar stool and gives him one last hug and a proper goodbye. There is a knot of fear in her stomach when she tries to leave Anderson’s apartment. It is the feeling of dread that she so easily recognizes as her inability to measure up, the looming failure that she expects herself to be. It writhes through her body, tugging her downward before she can stop it.

The world shifts around her again and she finds herself in the forest that plagues her nightmares, now more vivid and life-like than it has ever been in her dreams. The smoke stings her eyes and it is difficult to breathe. She moves forward as she searches for a clearing but her progress is slow. She cannot ignore the aching pain from her abdomen and knows that she’s bleeding out.The forest is eerily silent, but Shepard waits for the voices of her dead friends to find her as they echo out with her greatest failures. She is finding it difficult to stand now and falls forward on her knees, unsure that she has the will to continue forward.  
  
“I tried to keep them all safe,” she chokes out, though she is unsure who the statement is intended for.   
  
She closes her eyes and her last moments coming rushing back: Adamant, the mage’s blade, her wound—Cullen’s frantic words, the fear in his eyes, the way he begged her to stay with him.  
  
She pictures his face, thinks about the ways that she has traced over it with the tips of her fingers and her lips, feels the way his strong arms wrap around her in the most protective way, and she can conjure the smell of him despite the smoke that fills her nightmare. Shepard wills herself to think of the things that bind them together, following the invisible threads that connect them. She tries to let go of this place, setting down her fears in favour of something else entirely.    
   
  
  
Shepard opens her eyes slowly and with great effort. She is unsure of where she is but she is lying in a comfortable bed and the room is dark and quiet. Looking around the room she sees Cullen curled up in a chair near the foot of her bed. Her tongue feels thick inside of her mouth and she finds that she cannot speak, so instead she tries to sit up, groaning when she feels the aching throb of her wound.  
  
Cullen jumps at the sound and there is a momentary pause as he registers that she is awake. He rushes to the side of the bed, stopping short of touching her in case this is some kind of dream. He is silent with shock, and Shepard notices the dark circles under his eyes, his dishevelled hair, and wrinkled clothes.   
  
Despite the conversation that she had had with Anderson, she doesn’t actually know if she can be the kind of person that sets herself up for heartache, and in this moment humour is easier than honesty.   
  
“Damn Rutherford, you’re a mess,” Shepard says.   
  
Cullen doesn’t laugh. Instead he takes her hand, cradling it gently as he holds it against his face in relief. His handsome honey coloured eyes are wet with tears and she is immediately filled with guilt at not saying anything that meant more. She clumsily wipes his tears away with her thumb and his grip tightens around her hand. He sits down on the side of the bed and leans forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead.   
  
“What you said at the meeting, when I was giving orders—I never could have forgiven myself for the way that I acted,” he whispers.   
  
“Cullen,” she says, cutting him off, “there will be lots of time for us to apologize. Stay here with me and get some sleep. You look like you could use it.”   
  
Shepard gingerly moves over in bed as Cullen undresses and slides in next to her. He turns on his side toward her, his face showing his utter surprise and immense relief. She smiles at him, reaching out to hold his hand between them. He squeezes hers tightly, his eyes never leaving her own. Eventually, much like the first night they had spent together, they fall asleep without letting go of one another. 


	25. Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen reflects on the way that Shepard came into his life.

The first time that Cullen had even heard mention of Shepard was when a scout had run back to the forward camp to deliver the message that the Breach had been stabilized by the Herald, but that a strange mage had fallen out of it during the fray and had been taken to Haven. Cullen remembered telling the scout that it was madness, wondering how many people could possibly fall out of one hole in the sky. He had finished up at the forward camp as quickly as possible so that he could return to Haven and assist with this “strange mage.”  
  
When he had arrived in Haven’s Chantry there was a small group gathered in Josephine’s office. Josephine, Leliana, and the Herald were speaking calmly to one another while Cassandra and Varric were arguing loudly about what to do with the prisoner.   
  
“Catch me up on the situation,” Cullen said, announcing his presence to the room.   
  
“A strange woman has fallen through the Breach,” Cassandra responded matter-of-factly, as though it was all the information Cullen required to understand what had happened.   
  
“That’s hardly a way to tell it, Seeker.” Varric had rolled his eyes at the Seeker and turned to face Cullen.  
  
Cullen remembered how Varric had launched into a highly descriptive recounting of what had happened after the Herald and his party had left Cullen and his soldiers to carry on to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Cassandra tried to interject to amend a few of Varric’s statements, but the dwarf breezed by her comments with such ease that she eventually gave up and resorted to making disapproving noises instead.   
  
“Then out of nowhere this massive demon gets lifted right off its feet by this ball of energy, and I look over to see this woman running into the middle of the fight like it was something she’d done a thousand times. Her armour was all burned and mangled and she was covered in dirt and blood, but it was like it didn’t even phase her.”   
  
“It was impressive,” Cassandra had conceded, “but she used dangerous magic.”   
  
“I don’t know Seeker. That wasn’t like any magic I’ve seen before, and you know I’ve seen some weird shit,” Varric laughed.   
  
“I would appreciate your assistance in assessing the prisoner,” Cassandra said as Solas walked in. “I have asked that Solas join us as well.”  
  
Cullen nodded and greeted Solas as the group prepared to head down to the prison. Varric decided not to join them and instead headed toward his usual place at the campfire, stating that he needed a drink. Their group continued down the stairs into the dungeons as Cassandra asked Solas for his account of what this mystery woman had done at the Breach.  
  
“I am sorry Seeker, but I do not think she is a mage,” Solas concluded.  
  
“But her abilities! I have never seen anything of their like before,” Cassandra responded. “And she appeared out of thin air. How else do you explain that, if not through magic?”  
  
“I believe that we should question her,” Leliana said softly, though Cullen had known precisely what she was implying. He was still getting used to her particular way of doing things, and sometimes felt that she toed the line of what was appropriate conduct. It was a conversation they had had many times since his appointment to Commander.  
  
“Alright, but let us not take any unnecessary risks,” Cullen said, with a particularly pointed glance at Leliana.   
  
They entered the dungeons quietly, and Cullen stepped forward to approach the cell first. The woman was lying on her side, presumably sleeping, but Cullen recalled that when Cassandra had banged on the bars that Shepard had jumped up into so decisive a defensive position that he knew she had been faking it.   
  
“Where am I?”  
  
“We are asking the questions,” Cassandra had responded sharply. “Who are you?”  
  
Cullen saw Shepard mirror Cassandra’s stance and he knew that Shepard had been assessing whether or not she could take the other woman down. Cullen stepped forward between Cassandra and the cell and it was the first time that he and Shepard had been face to face, despite the bars that separated them. He vividly remembers the exact moment that she had looked at him directly. He was caught off guard by her strength, the precision of her stance, and those captivating green eyes. It was in that moment that he realized there was so much more to her than he knew, and he never could have guessed what an impact she would make on him.  
  
It was when he was trying to write a letter to his sister Mia that he realized that there was no way for him to truly articulate the way in which Jane Shepard had come into his life. She was like an all encompassing storm coming off of the Fereldan coast—all thunder and lightning and torrential rain—that caught you unawares and left you so dishevelled that you hardly knew where you were. He wanted to talk to someone about the way that this brave, fearsome woman had embedded herself deep beneath his skin, her name winding itself through his mind at all hours. Their interactions had always left him feeling upended, as though she was constantly challenging him to step out of his comfort zone. He wasn’t even sure that she realized she had been doing it, but it had left an impression on him.   
  
Cullen could not precisely pinpoint when his feelings for her had begun moving past the point of friendship, but when the Herald’s party returned from closing the Breach with the mages he knew that he cared for Jane more than he ought to. His stomach had plummeted at the sight of her being dragged in between two soldiers, and he remembered being infuriated by the disregard the party had shown her. He had immediately stepped forward and scooped her up into his arms and held her against his chest as he said a silent prayer to the Maker to keep her safe. Cullen could hardly believe it when the Herald had ordered him and Solas to leave Shepard in the holding cells below Haven. He had wanted to ask her about it, have her explain herself, but Corypheus had attacked so suddenly that there had been no time.   
  
In spite of whatever she attempted at the Breach, Shepard had still done everything that she could to help them get out of Haven. She had even blown up a tent in camp in order to tell them where to find the Herald. Cullen remembered being so conflicted when they had finally reached Skyhold and the advisors had called for her imprisonment. He agonized over the decision, but ensured that she was offered every possible comfort. Many times he had found himself descending the stairs into the dungeon but he could never work up the courage to speak to her, and often found himself climbing straight back up again. At the time he could not understand her actions, but now that he knew her so well he could see that Shepard was someone who would always do what was right, no matter her position.   
  
She had discovered him going through a severe episode of lyrium withdrawal and had hardly batted an eye before doing everything that she could to help him. She had acted with compassion and without judgement, and Cullen could not think of a time when he had been so openly exposed to someone. When she had told him that she was confident he could stay off of lyrium, he believed her.  
  
Shepard presented herself as an unstoppable force. Cullen knew that she was more powerful than she had ever demonstrated to the Inquisition, and she presented such a strong front that it was hard to see past the walls she had built around herself. What he had realized that night in her quarters was that she had erected those walls for a reason. He remembered the way she shook as she slept through a nightmare, calling out against the demons of her past, and he was glad that he could be there to help her through it. When he fell asleep clutching her hand he was comforted by the thought that they could anchor one another, and it made him glad to know that they were able to share each other’s burdens.  
  
He was stunned when she had told him her first name and she seemed to come alive when he said it. It was as though he was keeping her most precious secret. The moment she had kissed him he could feel himself come unbalanced; the careful mask of control that he used to keep himself together was undone. When their bodies fit together it was a sensation that he had never felt before, as though the electricity running through his nerve endings could not tell them apart. Cullen knew that he would never be the same after that.   
  
They had spent the months leading up to the assault on Adamant organizing operations, training the recruits together, and going over mission plans. Cullen knew that Shepard deserved to be on the front lines of their assault on the fortress, but he could not suppress his want to protect her. He could not deny that she was a damn good solider—one of the Inquisition’s best, to be sure—but he had selfishly wanted to keep her out of harm’s way. Cullen could not excuse himself for the way he had dismissed her, and his stomach turned at the thought of her angrily wielding the word expectations against him. She had been right, of course, but he had cursed her for it at the time, upset that she had tried to disregard his orders. He had regretted his words the moment that he saw her enter the fight at Adamant.   
  
Cullen had been cornered by two demons and was ready to engage them when they were lifted off the ground, the buzzing energy suspending them something he now easily associated with Shepard. He spun around just in time see the staff blade plunge in under her ribs, right before the mage who wielded it is cut down. The rest was a blur to him, but he remembered frantically yelling for a healer and telling Shepard that she shouldn’t be there. He had gone cold the moment she pulled her hand away and revealed the dark red blood from the gaping wound. She managed to get out that she couldn’t lose him too and he sobbed as he pulled her to his chest, making every promise to the Maker that he could think of in exchange for her life. Cullen had known that it was his fault; his own pride and foolishness had prevented him from separating his job and their relationship, and Shepard had suffered for it.   
  
Solas had appeared just in time and had been able to perform some kind of healing magic which allowed him to suspend her while he worked to heal her wounds. When she was stable enough they had moved Shepard into Cullen’s tent at Adamant and Cassandra had been kind enough to take over the responsibilities of command so that Cullen could stay at Shepard’s side.   
  
After nearly a week the Inquisition’s soldiers were dispatched to return to Skyhold, though some troops would remain at their hold in the Western Approach to help stabilize the region. Cullen requested that he and Shepard remain there so that she could recover, and he asked Solas to stay behind as well.  
  
“I will stay with you in the Western Approach for a time but if she does not improve I may be forced to break the spell.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Cullen asked.  
  
“Shepard is in a deep sleep, one from which she may never wake. If I remove the spell and she does not wake on her own, I am not sure that she will live,” Solas had said carefully.   
  
Cullen appreciated the frank response, though he felt himself faltering at the words. “Is there nothing we can do?”  
  
Solas was thoughtful for a while, considering the request before suggesting that once they had reached Griffon Wing Keep he might be able to attempt some dreaming magic which might allow him to contact Shepard through the fade. Cullen had accepted the suggestion without a second thought. He blamed himself entirely for what had happened, but tried to remain hopeful that he would be given the chance to apologize for how he had treated her. He would understand if she didn’t want to be with him anymore, but he just wanted her to be alright.  
  
Cullen had paced outside her room at the keep while Solas had attempted to contact her through the fade. It was hours before the mage exited the room again, and the look that he gave Cullen was not a hopeful one.   
  
“I was able to contact her in the fade,” Solas began, “I explained what happened and that she must wake up from this on her own, but she left me behind in her visions. I cannot say what will happen now.”   
  
Cullen felt as though the ground beneath him were disappearing. His chest was tightening and he could not breathe. He fell back against the hard stone wall, sliding downward until he landed on the floor.   
  
“I am sorry Commander but we have done all that we can,” Solas said before excusing himself.  
  
Cullen had waited in her room, sitting on the chair in the corner in order to give her space. Shepard looked content as she slept, and Cullen wondered what she was dreaming of in the fade. Although Shepard had opened up to him about her world, they often avoided speaking about the more personal aspects of her life there. He knew that she was an orphan, had spent most of her life in the military, and considered her crew to be her family. Shepard hadn’t said much more, and he didn’t feel it appropriate to ask for something she wasn’t willing to offer freely. He could easily understand that there were some things a soldier never wanted to share.

She had fit in so well with the Inquisition and its inner circle that he sometimes forgot that she was from another world entirely. Cullen hated that he had been so inconsiderate. He knew that she had been trying to return her to her world through the Breach, an action that was wholly misunderstood by the rest of the Inquisition, and had been imprisoned for it. It was as though they blamed her for wanting to return home. After their first night together she had said nothing more about it and Cullen hadn’t asked. Was he really so foolish as to think that she would no longer want to return to her own world?  That she could feel more for him than she had said?  
That she would want to stay with him?  
  
 _Those sound an awful lot like expectations, Rutherford,_ he heard her voice whisper in the back of his mind.   
  
_I don't mean them to be. I think I could love you,_ his mind whispered back.   
  
Cullen heard a groan and thought at first that he had imagined it, but then he heard Shepard shift in bed. He jumped up and was at her side in an instant.   
  
“Damn Rutherford, you’re a mess,” Shepard had croaked.   
  
His heart had been pounding and his mind was racing with a thousand thoughts. He kissed her forehead and began tripping over his words. He wanted to apologize, wanted to tell her how much he cared for her, wanted her to know how glad he was that she was awake—but it came out all wrong. She had cut him off and asked him to climb into bed with her, which was a better response than he could have expected.   
  
In the morning Cullen woke up to Shepard curled against his chest with his arms wrapped around her and their legs tangled together. It was a position that they had often found themselves in throughout the past few months, but it felt different to Cullen somehow. Shepard stirred against him and he nuzzled his face into her hair. She kissed his chest before shifting so that she could see his face.   
  
“Morning, Rutherford,” she yawned.   
  
“Good morning, Jane.”  
  
“Are we going to have to talk now?” she joked, “You could always grovel instead. I love a good grovel.” She was trying to maintain her humorous tone but her eyes betrayed her.  
  
“You took a blade for me.” He tried to say it evenly but knew that his tone had missed the mark, further revealing his guilt. She looked as though she was going to speak, but instead bit her lower lip as if to stop herself.   
  
After a few moments she said, “I don’t know if you’ve realized this about me yet Rutherford, but I’ve got a bit of a hero complex.”   
  
She smiled, but he could tell that there was so much more going on under the surface of it. Cullen let out a deep breath. He wouldn’t push.  
  
“I don’t want a hero. I just want you to be you—and for you to be alright,” he said.  
  
“No harm in trying,” she said quietly, but he was not sure if it was meant for him to hear. Then she asked, “How long have I been out?”  
  
“About a week. We are in Griffon Wing Keep in the Western Approach. The Inquisitor and a large mass of our soldiers are returning to Skyhold now, and we will be attending the peace talks at the Winter Palace soon. I am coordinating with Leliana to see if we can stay here and meet them at the palace when it is time.”  
  
Shepard wrinkled her nose and him and he could not help but smile. “You hate all that royal nonsense. Can’t you skip out on this one? Tell them your girlfriend is convalescing and she desperately requires your presence.”   
  
He tried not to react to the fact that she has referred to herself as his girlfriend.   
  
“I am sure we can stay here for a week at least. Unfortunately if you are not feeling better I will be forced to attend without you. Though that would make me hate it even more, I think,” Cullen laughed as Shepard pouted playfully.   
  
“Alright, I guess I’ll come to this fancy party,” she said, snuggling against his chest.   
  
They are quiet for a while as they hold on to one another, and for a brief instant Cullen is overcome with the notion that his mistake at Adamant could have cost Shepard her life. He knows that he does not want his relationship and his work to come into conflict with one another, but recognizes that it may be inevitable. This is the first time that he’s ever been confronted with such dire consequences, and it has him reeling.   
  
“You know that we are going to have to talk about it eventually,” he says calmly.   
  
“I know,” Shepard sighs quietly.  
  
“For now it can wait,” Cullen says. He leans forward to give Shepard a gentle kiss and wonders at the unbelievable circumstances that brought them together.


	26. Reconciling

Shepard was not looking forward to leaving Griffon Wing Keep, and anyone who heard her say it would have said that she hit her head too hard at Adamant fortress. The Western Approach was a desert wasteland, all scorching sands and dangerous beasts, but Shepard felt as though the keep offered her a particular kind of solitude that she could not find in Skyhold. The keep was full of troops assigned to the region and it had been put under Captain Rylen’s charge, so Shepard was well-known to most of the soldiers and had been very much at ease spending most of her time among them.  
  
It had been nearly a month since the attack on Adamant and Cullen had requested permission from the Inquisitor to work remotely from the keep. He had set up a tent on the upper level of the keep that served as his make-shift office, while also allowing him to participate in training activities with the troops. Despite Cullen’s best efforts Shepard had thrown herself back into training exercises and sparring as soon as she had felt able. Solas had also remained at the keep, though he spent most of his days in his quarters reading or dreaming, and sometimes would travel out into the desert to explore some of the more interesting ruins. Shepard had often tried to approach him and thank him for his efforts in saving her, but the elven apostate easily evaded her.  
  
She finally caught him on the battlements one evening when she had been unable to sleep and was seeking some fresh air.  
  
“I’ve been meaning to thank you for saving my life,” Shepard said, coming up beside Solas. His eyes seemed far away, staring out across the approach but not looking at anything in particular.  
  
“You awoke from the fade on your own. I merely allowed you the opportunity to do so,” he replied.  
  
Shepard crossed her arms in frustration. “You’re a stubborn ass.”  
  
Solas raised an eyebrow at this, turning toward Shepard. “And you are rather blunt.”  
  
“You’ve got me there.”  
  
The two stood in silence for a while then, listening to the sounds of the keep and the rush of wind across the sands.  
  
“I can’t figure you out, Solas. Why save my life after that whole mess with the Breach?” Shepard asked earnestly.  
  
“I felt as though I owed you that much. We are even now, I hope?” he said calmly.  
  
Shepard nodded, more than happy to put that tension behind them. She knew that it was all the explanation that she would receive from the apostate who played his cards close to his chest. She wasn’t sure that she would call them friends, but at least she didn’t have to worry about him conspiring against her.  
  
 After a moment he spoke again. “I am surprised that you woke up. From what I saw of your visions in the fade you were well-respected in your world and it was comfortable and familiar. You could have peacefully passed on through those memories. Why come back to a world that is not your own?”  
  
Shepard had thought a lot about what had happened in the fade and about her decision to return to Thedas rather than letting herself die. She and Cullen still had yet to speak of it directly, and she was unsure of what she would tell him when it came down to it, but somehow she felt that Solas might understand. Perhaps it was because he had seen her memories and her desires for her world in the fade, or perhaps it was the fact that he seemed to be an outlier in the Inquisition’s inner circle.  
  
“Third time’s the charm,” Shepard muttered, which Solas seemed to have heard. He looked confused, but waited for her to speak.  
  
“This is the third time I’ve cheated death,” Shepard said, placing a hand over the bottom of her rib cage in the place where the mage had stabbed her. “The second time was when I came through the Breach, when I should have died firing the Crucible. The first time—well, I did die, actually. But someone brought me back.”  
  
Shepard waited for his reaction. Most had told her it was impossible, and many of her friends believed her to be a robot or a clone when they first saw her after two years of death. Others, like Ashley, refused to believe that she had died at all. Shepard watched as Solas eyes widened in surprise, but he did not ask any questions.  
  
“The first time was the worst. I woke up and it felt like no time had passed at all. My body was different, stronger, augmented with technology that kept me alive. Then I found out that two years had passed while they worked to bring me back. Suddenly everything—everyone—was different,” she said, clenching her fists.  
  
She had worked to accept what Cerberus had done to her, but there was still some anger buried deep down. They had erased her scars, filled her with tech, and supercharged her biotics. She had felt like a different person, as though the Shepard that she had been actually had died over Alchera and she was now a shadow of that woman. Solas placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she was surprised by the compassion that she read on his face. The moment passed quickly, but she knew that it was significant.  
  
“This time, in the fade, the choice to come back was mine. It wasn’t forced upon me and it wasn’t a freak accident. So I chose.”  
  
Solas nodded absently; he seemed lost in thought somewhere far away again. After a while he returned to himself, and his features softened toward Shepard. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I fear that you and I are more alike than we ought to be.”  
  
Shepard reached out to place her hand on Solas’ arm. The elf smiled at her, and then inclined his head to the stairs behind them, and Shepard turned to see Cullen approaching them. “I’ll take my leave. Good evening, Shepard.”  
  
Solas nodded to Cullen as they passed on another and then disappeared down the stairs. Cullen reached out to Shepard as he approached her, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Everything alright?”  
  
Shepard knew that Cullen was apprehensive about Solas after she had confided that the apostate had been the one to convince her to attack the Breach. Cullen had been polite to Solas after he had helped to save Shepard’s life at Adamant, but that did not mean that Cullen trusted him.  
  
“I think that Solas and I have reached a mutual understanding,” Shepard said.  
  
Shepard turned to look out over the battlements and Cullen stood behind her quietly. She pressed her back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head against her own.  
  
“I had been hoping that we could talk about what happened,” Cullen began, and Shepard tensed at his words.  
  
She had been dreading this conversation because she did not trust her own feelings, though she wanted to hear what Cullen had to say. She turned to face him and took a small step back, creating some space between them. Cullen stood, determinedly waiting for her to accept his request to have a conversation. Shepard tried to ignore the knee jerk reaction that told her to avoid it. After almost a month of evading Cullen’s attempts to talk about what happened, Shepard felt that she owed it to him to finally clear the air between them.    
  
“I owe you an apology for what I said before the battle. I should have considered your request and you should have been fighting with the troops.” His words were so firm that she could tell they had been well practiced; Cullen had obviously been thinking about this conversation for a while.  
  
“You’re the Commander of these forces and you made a call. I should have followed it,” Shepard interjected.  
  
Cullen’s arms shifted as he put them behind his back, standing at ease. She had half expected to see him rubbing the back of his neck, as he often did when he was uncomfortable, but the determined stance conveyed how serious he was.  
  
“I made that call for the wrong reasons and we both know it,” Cullen said. “I compromised my position because of my feelings for you and I made up a ridiculous justification for keeping you out of harm’s way.”  
  
Shepard met Cullen’s eyes and was glad to see that the guilt that she had seen there over the past few weeks had seemed to disappear. He seemed resolute in his apology rather than his actions, and Shepard respected his honesty; she understood his position quite well.  
  
“I’ve never had someone tell me I can’t do something—in fact they usually expected me to do the impossible,” Shepard laughed. “I guess I was shocked that you would ignore all of my experience and keep me out of the field, and when I realized that you were letting your feelings get in the way I was angry.”  
  
“Understandably.”  
  
“Cullen, I don’t want our relationship to compromise your position as Commander,” Shepard said. She saw the way that his jaw tensed when she said it, his shoulders stiffening as though he were bracing to take a punch.  
  
“It won’t. Not again,” he said.  
  
“If we need to distance ourselves from one another I would understand,” she finished.  
  
Shepard watched his body relax slightly as he let out a breath before asking, “Is that what you want?”  
  
It wasn’t the reaction that she had been expecting and she was caught off guard. She didn’t have a good response, so she said the first thing that came to mind. “I know your work is important to you. I shouldn’t complicate that.”  
  
He could tell that she was deflecting. “I have learned from what happened at Adamant and I would like to think that I would not repeat my mistake. But that is for me to manage.” Cullen reached forward to take her hands in his and asked earnestly, “What do you want, Jane?”  
  
She had difficulty remembering the last time anyone had taken her feelings into account; over the course of the last few years she had not had the luxury of their consideration. Her eyes widened with panic as she realized that she could not immediately answer Cullen’s question. It should be simple, a quick and easy answer, but it is complicated by the knowledge that they should be worlds apart. If she is honest with herself, she knows that committing to being with Cullen feels a little bit like giving up on going back to her world; conceding defeat has never been in her nature.  
  
“I want to spend time with you, but I don’t want it to interfere. As long as you feel that it’s manageable, I say we just keep doing what we were doing. There’s no need to complicate it,” she said.  
  
Cullen nodded as he drew her hands up to his lips and placed kisses along her knuckles. She wondered what it would be like to bring down the walls she had built around herself, to let herself care about Cullen in the way that she thought she might be able to.  
  
This is how you lose them, a voice echoed in her mind.  
  
Shepard pulled his hands down toward her and he wrapped his arms around her. Cullen was sturdy and warm, and Shepard let herself relax into his embrace. She lost track of time as they stood out on the battlements together. Out in the middle of the Approach, with the empty sands surrounding them, it was easy to pretend in this moment that they were the only ones that existed. Like an oasis in the desert, it was a beautiful mirage. It was dangerous to dwell on it.  
  
“So, on to Orlais and then back to Skyhold?” Shepard asked, breaking the silence.  
  
“Yes, unfortunately,” Cullen grumbled.  
  
She knew that he hated the prospect of attending a ball, as he had been complaining about it nearly the entire time they’d be in stationed at the keep. Shepard on the other hand had been looking forward to it, having never seen one herself. Josephine always seemed rather excited about fancy parties.  
  
“I’ve been thinking about taking some time off,” Cullen began tentatively. “Josephine says that I am in need of a vacation, and I’m considering going to Fereldan for a few weeks after we’ve returned from Val Royeaux.”  
  
“You deserve a vacation, Rutherford.”  
  
“I was rather hoping that you would come with me. Only if you wanted to, of course.” He had stated it casually but Shepard knew that it was intended as  a question. Leaning against him she could hear his heart beating a fierce staccato in his chest.  
  
Shepard didn’t think it could hurt. Whether they were here, in Skyhold, or elsewhere, it hardly seemed to matter so long as they kept their feelings in check. They were both adults; they understood what it meant to manage expectations.  
  
“I’d love to get out of Skyhold for while longer. All we have to do is attend a fancy party and then we can have some time to ourselves,” she said, pressing her body suggestively against his.  
  
“Speaking of the fancy party,” Cullen started, “I had a raven from Leliana earlier today with travel plans and assignments. She has assigned you a specific role for the evening and expects you to be in attendance at the ball itself.”  
  
“Oh?” Shepard said questioningly, noticing a bit of apprehension in Cullen’s voice.  
  
“Had I known of her intention I might have been able to do something, but it seems I am too late to intervene. I am not sure that you will be pleased about it.”  
  
“I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse,” Shepard said. She had faced down a thresher maw on foot, after all. Whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad.  
   
***  
  
“This is absolute torture. I won’t do it.”  
  
“We must all make sacrifices, Shepard,” Josephine said sternly, and Shepard knew that she wouldn’t be getting out of this. “It is just a corset after all.”  
  
Shepard dramatically placed her hands across her abdomen, just under her ribcage as she made a pained face.“You know, I think this might reopen my wound from Adamant. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for that, would you Josephine?”  
  
“That is hardly fair, Shepard,” the diplomat responded as she scribbled away on her clipboard. She didn’t even spare Shepard a second glance.  
Shepard looked down at the volumes of tule and lace that covered her body and sighed as she nervously smoothed out the fabric. A quiet servant was helping to lace up the bodice of the corset and Shepard exhaled sharply as it tightened around her.  
  
“I can hardly fight in this. There isn’t even a place to hide a dagger,” Shepard protested as the woman dressing her started to fuss with the bodice of the gown.  
  
“You should be nowhere near a fight. Tonight your only assignment is to listen.” Josephine countered with a dismissive wave. “Do you remember your cover?”  
  
“I’m some far removed noble that no one should care about from the Free Marches,” Shepard deadpanned as she gave her best imitation of a curtsey.  
  
“Thank the Maker you are wearing a mask tonight,” Josephine sighed dismissively.  
  
Cassandra stepped into the room wearing a formal uniform and, though the vibrant red, gold and blue were not what Shepard might have chosen, it certainly looked more far more comfortable than what she was wearing.  
  
“Why the hell does Cassandra get pants? Shouldn’t she be in a dress too?” Shepard questioned.  
  
“This is the formal attire of the Inquisition,” Cassandra said. “I am the Right Hand of the Divine. I could hardly go unnoticed in my position.”  
  
Cassandra sat down in one of the beautifully puffy sitting chairs and shot Shepard an amused smirk. Shepard childishly stuck out her tongue at her friend.  
  
Josephine laughed, and Shepard knew that she had lost. “All of the Inqusitor’s advisors will be wearing that attire. I must go and change now, actually. Shepard, you will be arriving before we do so be sure to be discreet. As soon as you are ready you will be escorted to a carriage.”  
  
Shepard rolled her eyes as she waited for the rest of her corset to be tied as Josephine exited the room. “I can’t remember why I was even looking forward to this.”  
  
“This may be one of the deadliest missions we’ve undertaken so far,” Cassandra said, the corners of her mouth lifting just enough to betray her serious tone.  
  
“You expecting everyone to suffocate to death?”  
  
Cassandra made an audible ugh sound, and Shepard felt as though it echoed her thoughts exactly


	27. Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inquisition attends a ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for Shepard's outfit: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=137263274

There were few things that Dorian loved more than scandalous gossip and elegant parties. Being the centre of said scandalous gossip at an elegant Orleisan party? Well that was just icing on the cake, really. He had been spending the majority of the evening of Empress Celene’s ball in the garden listening in as party goers whispered rumours about the Inquisitor’s mysterious lover.  
  
_“He’s a spy from Tevinter!”_  
  
_“I heard that he’s a magister.”_  
  
_“He probably won the Inquisitor over using blood magic.”_  
  
Dorian laughed to himself as he enjoyed copious amounts of the spiced wine. He wondered for a brief moment how Maxwell might feel about this nonsense, but quickly pushed away the concern. Surely if Max had dismissed the rumours brought forward by that Chantry windbag Mother Giselle, he would hardly give a nug’s arse about frivolous Orlesians. Varric and the Iron Bull had been teasing them about their relationship for weeks now and he had hardly given it a second thought.  
  
It wasn’t long before Maxwell found Dorian in the garden.  
  
“It seems I need only to think of you and you appear,” Dorian said, smiling at him. He appears as handsome as ever, even in spite of the harsh red formal wear of the Inquisition.  
  
“I find myself in need of a break,” Maxwell responded. He looked worn out and the evening had hardly begun.  
  
The past few months had been tiring enough for Dorian, let alone Max, who had been running all over the wretched south since the disaster at the Conclave. It was a wonder how he did it all. As far as Dorian was concerned, falling into the fade at Adamant should have been the last straw. It had been fascinating—and terrifying, of course—but more than anything it was absolutely exhausting.  
  
“You should know that these Orlesians will punish you for being seen with the likes of me,” Dorian winked.  
  
“Let them,” Maxwell leaned forward and whispered into Dorian’s ear. Dorian felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound of Max’s voice. The things this man did to him were nothing short of marvellous.  
  
“How are you faring? Despite your noble title, I know this isn’t exactly your favourite pastime,” Dorian said as he ignored impolite gasps from the poorly dressed women standing a few metres away.  
  
“The food’s good at least,” Maxwell said easily. He had such a calm, amiable attitude that it was hard to know what he was truly thinking. Dorian found it difficult to read sometimes, and it worried him. The Inquisition was not a simple burden to bear.  
  
“You’ll let me know if there’s trouble?” Dorian tried to keep the concern out of his voice but it found itself there so easily. He was quickly becoming far too attached to this handsome Free Marcher.  
  
“There’s always trouble,” Maxwell laughed, his grey eyes twinkling with mischief.  
  
Dorian raised an eyebrow at him in order to reinforce his point. Maxwell placed a hand on Dorian’s arm and squeezed gently.  
  
“It’s only been a few minor skirmishes, and there are plenty of others around to help tonight. You’re supposed to be putting your gossip mongering to good use and gathering information for Leliana.”  
  
“You mean like Shepard thinks she’s doing?” Dorian retorted. “Is the Nightingale punishing me too?”    
  
It was quite the charade Leliana had orchestrated in getting Shepard dressed up in full masquerade attire and providing her with a false cover. Anyone who knew Shepard even remotely was aware that she took a mission very seriously; even something so ridiculous as going undercover to gather information at a party. Dorian had been born and bred to play games such as these, and he knew that Leliana’s ulterior motive had been to remove Shepard from the picture for the evening. The handsome Commander of the Inquisition was far more valuable as an eligible bachelor, and he would hardly be a good bargaining chip if he had arrived with a beautiful woman commanding his attention all evening. Poor Shepard hadn’t even the faintest idea that the spymaster had played on her sense of duty so easily.  
  
Maxwell laughed and said, “Do go in and rescue Shepard, will you? The poor thing doesn’t have  the slightest idea what’s happening.”  
  
“Oh but it’s been so fun to watch,” Dorian said and Maxwell pouted, sticking out his lower lip in that delicious way that Dorian loved.  
  
“Alright,” Dorian conceded, “I cannot say no to that face.”  
  
“Good,” Maxwell said before kissing Dorian on the cheek. “In that case, save me a dance.”  
  
Dorian savoured the view as he watched the Inquisitor walk back into the lion’s den. He sought out one more glass of wine for good measure before venturing back into the hall, where he found Shepard egregiously shoving frilly cakes into her mouth. Even in a full gown and a mask it was easy to spot her vibrantly deep red hair, and her muscular arms told anyone with half a brain that the woman was anything but a noblewoman. He had to admit, however, that she looked absolutely stunning in the ensemble that Josephine had concocted. Shepard was in a ball gown the same colour as her deep red hair and she looked so magnificent that it made one forget the rule that said redheads should not wear red.  
  
“I do hope you’ve avoided the gold-dusted ones. Called ‘the Exquisite Misery,’ so I’m told,” Dorian said as he approached the beautifully dressed woman.  
  
“Everything about this place is designed to be painful,” Shepard lamented as she set her plate down on the table.  
  
Shepard fussed with her dress a bit and Dorian watched as her eyes drifted across the hall to look at Cullen, who was currently being accosted by an overzealous group of Orlesians. Dorian didn’t think that poor Cullen could get any more flustered. Shepard, on the other hand, was scowling so deeply that Dorian thought she might zap the noble twits with her bright blue powers.  
  
“Come, let’s take a walk. I do so love being seen with other beautiful people,” Dorian said, linking his arm through Shepard’s as he led her away.  
  
He could feel the anger radiating off of her as they walked down the length of the ballroom. It was understandable, of course, but it was a waste of Shepard’s time and energy to worry about lesser people.  
  
“It’s all part of the game, Shepard my dear. Only a fool would be able to look at the two of you and not realize that the man is entirely besotted,” Dorian pressed.  
  
He felt Shepard’s arm tense beneath his hand, and out of the corner of his eye he could see her face flush red beneath the edges of her mask.  
  
“You think so? I mean it’s not like we’re, well, I don’t know—,” she stammered before he politely cut her off.  
  
“Yes I know, feelings are horrid things aren’t they?” Dorian said as he steered them out onto the balcony.  
  
Shepard sank onto a bench and took a few deep breaths as she tried to regain her composure. Dorian had never been able to rile her up so easily. He was certain that she would rather take on an entire darkspawn army than be honest about her feelings, but it was fairly obvious that she cared about Cullen. The Inquisition’s inner circle had known about their initial tryst fairly quickly; the two of them had been dancing around one another for months it seemed, and there were very few secrets to be keep in Skyhold. When the two of them hadn’t stopped spending most nights in Shepard’s quarters their relationship was easily accepted and few people outside of the Inquisitor’s trusted companions had said anything to either of them.  
  
“Considering how much time you spend together I thought you must have sorted all of this out,” Dorian smirked.  
  
“It’s easy when it’s just the two of us. Everything else makes it too complicated,” Shepard laughed half-heartedly. “I’m very much aware that we are from different worlds entirely.”  
  
In a way, Dorian could empathize. Although he and Maxwell were not literally from different worlds, as Cullen and Shepard were, they might as well be. There was no way that Dorian could ever return to Tevinter with his Inquisitor boyfriend in tow. They had certainly had enough trouble keeping their love affair within the Inquisition and avoided gossip as much as possible. It was burdened by numerous impossibilities and reasons against it, and yet they couldn't find it in themselves to care. Dorian wondered why Shepard was so averse to confessing her feelings for Cullen; it would not change their circumstances.  
  
“Don’t let all of this discourage you,” Dorian said, gesturing toward the ballroom.  
  
Shepard shook her head and looked down at her dress as she let out a deep breath. “I keep thinking that maybe I can actually make this work with Cullen, that maybe I would consider staying in Thedas if he asked me—but things like this party just drive home the fact that I really shouldn’t be here.”  
  
Dorian felt a pang of guilt as he thought of the jokes that he and Maxwell had exchanged about Leliana’s plans. Shepard always seemed so self assured that it was hard to imagine anything getting under her skin, but he had obviously taken her invulnerability for granted.  
  
“Shepard, you have been here for nearly a year and you have proven yourself to be a highly valued member of the Inquisition. Besides, no one feels like they belong at an Orlesian soiree,” Dorian said, attempting to lighten her mood.  
  
Dorian watched as Shepard raised her head, looking past him with a cold fury burning in her eyes. He turned to see Leliana regarding the two of them from the edge of the ballroom, a deceptively sweet smile written across her face. She inclined her head toward them and then turned to walk away. Dorian’s stomach turned as he realized that perhaps his jokes to Maxwell about being punished by the Spymaster hadn’t been that far off the mark.  
  
“ _Kaffas_ ,” he muttered, sitting down beside Shepard.  
  
“Yep,” she agreed, “She’s taken us both off the playing field tonight.”  
  
Dorian allowed himself only a few moments of wallowing before pulling himself out of it. He hardly needed to feel upset—he was the Inquisitor’s forbidden lover, after all. What did he care if a former Chantry sister felt it improper?  
  
“Shepard,” Dorian said, standing up and straightening out his horrendously ugly Inquisition uniform, “Lets get ridiculously drunk and make a scene.”  
  
He bowed, extending his hand out to Shepard as though he were asking her for a dance. Her eyes lit up as a slow smile spread across her face and she took Dorian’s hand as she stood.  
  
“I’d be delighted,” she responded airily.  
  
The pair walked into the ballroom and stayed as far away as they could from Leliana. Ducking into one of the hallways they headed toward the kitchens, which showed obvious signs of a fight that had been hastily cleaned up, and Dorian had no doubt that Maxwell had been involved.  
  
Shepard ignored it, moving to the table where trays of sweets had been laid out to be taken to the ballroom. She grabbed a large tray of food and Dorian took two bottles of wine. He led the way out of the kitchen, moving quickly down another hallway until they found a room off to the side with an open door. A quick peek inside suggested that it was empty, so Dorian motioned for Shepard to follow him in. Dorian closed the door behind them before taking a few moments to look around the room. It seemed that they were in a trophy room, implied by the number of garish animal heads mounted around the room.  
  
Shepard sat down on the floor—no easy feat, considering her outfit—and placed the tray down in front of her. She was quite the image, sitting on the floor in a sea of deep red fabric.  
  
“Isn’t this cheery?” Dorian said, sitting down and uncorking the first bottle of wine. He handed it to Shepard, who tipped it back and took a long drink.  
  
“This whole night feels like a bad dream,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she gave the bottle back to Dorian.  
  
He took a drink as well before he said, “At least you recognized that Leliana was toying with you. I bought into the game whole-heartedly.”  
  
“‘More fool I’,” Shepard said quietly.  
  
“Beg your pardon?”  
  
“It’s from a very old play where I come from,” she said “‘the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content’.”  
  
Dorian noticed the bitterness coming through her words. How stupid they all had been to assume that Shepard would be unconcerned by her situation. They had all been thrust into the Inquisition through circumstance but had stayed for their own reasons: some for righteousness, others for power, influence, and the want to do good in the world. Shepard had stayed out of necessity: where else could she possibly go? Dorian realized that Cullen was probably the only thing that helped her maintain her sanity in this entirely foreign place. Maxwell had expressed to Dorian his intentions to help Shepard, but the war against Corypheus always came first. The idea of his defeat seemed so distant that it was hardly imaginable.  
  
“Maxwell will keep his word, you know,” Dorian said finally.  
  
He could think of nothing else to say. Shepard nodded as she bit into one of the small cakes from the tray. It was an odd image—the two of them sitting on the floor of a dark trophy room eating fancy cakes and drinking wine from the bottle.  
  
Shepard swallowed and said, “I know.”  
  
She had kindly left out the caveat of the Inquisitor's success against Corypheus, but it had been implied in her tone. Dorian tried not to think about it as he took another drink before handing the bottle back to Shepard. They sat in silence for a while as they took turns emptying the wine. The revelry was gone, but a shared understanding persisted between the two of them. He felt kindred to Shepard, having gained a whole new sense of who she was. Dorian was about to open another one when Shepard stood up and stretched.  
  
“Don’t let it all go to your head now,” he said. He was feeling a healthy buzz. Shepard was frowning.  
  
“I’m aching in this corset. Do you think you could loosen it for me?” Shepard said.  
  
Dorian stood, feeling obliged to help this woman as much as he was able.  
  
“I can’t say that I know my way around a corset too well,” Dorian laughed, “but I shall try.”  
  
His fingers were fumbling around with the ties at the back of the dress when Shepard began to laugh.  
  
“Can you just imagine someone catching us like this?” In a horrible imitation of an Orlesian accent she said, “ _The lovers of the Inquisition’s Commander and the Herald of Andraste were found together in the palace trophy room!_ ”  
  
Dorian let out a bellowing laugh. “Leliana would be overjoyed. Two birds with one stone, no doubt.”  
  
“Best not give her the satisfaction, then,” Shepard said as she pulled away from Dorian’s attempts to loosen her dress. Her tone was still light, but there was some tension lingering there.  
  
“Let us take a turn about the room,” Dorian said, linking arms with Shepard again.  
  
They started at the far end of the room and read through the plaques mounted under the displays. This room belonged to the Grand Duke, they discovered, and it was no doubt meant as some kind of display of hunting prowess. Dorian was making up stories about each of the Duke’s kills while Shepard laughed along with him. When they reached the edge of the room, near the door, he felt Shepard’s entire body go rigid beside him and she gasped.  
  
Dorian looked up at the head mounted on the plaque and he wasn’t entirely sure what the creature was. It had a horrid face and a hard shell on its head. It was rather large; perhaps it was some kind of giant turtle?  
  
“No need to be frightened, Shepard. It’s long dead.”  
  
She did not respond, and instead pulled her arm out of his and moved toward the thing as though she had not heard him. Dorian watched with apprehension as Shepard place her hands to gently rest on the sides of this creature’s face with what seemed like recognition.  
  
“What is this called?” she commanded in a sharp, quiet voice.  
  
“I don’t know,” Dorian stammered. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”  
  
“I have,” she breathed, continuing to stare at the creature.  
  
How was this even possible? How could Shepard have seen a creature that he was entirely unfamiliar with? Dorian was highly educated and had studied magic and the occult his entire life; surely he would have come across this in his studies at some point. Shepard had spent all of her time in this world within the Inquisition and something like this had never been reported. Surely Maxwell would have told him of encountering such an odd looking creature. Shepard rarely went out into the field with the Inquisitor, whereas Dorian was always with him. The haze of wine was not helping Dorian’s ability to process all of this.  
  
A puff of smoke erupted beside Dorian and Cole emerged. “He died in the darkness so a blue rose could bloom.”  
  
Shepard spun around fiercely, all concentration on the creature broken, and stormed toward Cole, stopping mere inches from his face. The boy did not even flinch and the storm of red stomped toward him.  
  
“What did you say?” Shepard’s voice was full of rage and deceptively low.  
  
“Not him, but like him, they are the same kind,” Cole said, his floppy hat following the tilt of his head. “Krogan.”  
  
Cole had whispered the final word. Dorian didn’t know what the word meant, but even under Shepard’s mask he could see that she had paled when the boy said it. Dorian kept an eye on the two of them as he waited to see how Shepard would react. He was drawn in, watching with rapt attention now.  
  
“Cole, I need you to explain this as directly as you can.” Shepard spoke slowly and clearly, “How is possible that a Krogan, a being from my world, is here in this one?”  
  
“Here, then, now, again—the worlds are the same but time is different,” Cole said.  
  
Shepard was barely containing her fury, but Cole’s words had set Durian’s mind racing. Dorian had always enjoyed puzzles, and he could see one being teased out right in front of him as he considered what Cole had said. He considered some of the odd similarities between Shepard and himself, her world and theirs. Dorian had thought it odd that Shepard had always been able to communicate with them, although sometimes she noted that some of  the words were different, or there were a few things that she hadn’t known about. What she called biotics were not of the fade but they were created by a kind of intense energy that transferred itself through her. When she described her world to Dorian she explained that a part of her world’s history seemed to resemble Thedas, though the magic, dragons and other creatures were a bit different. Save for this _Krogran_ creature it seemed.  
  
“It’s the same world!” Dorian said. He let out a laugh as it all fell into place, marvelling at his own cleverness.  
  
“Yes,” Cole smiled at him.  
  
Shepard looked shocked and after a heartbeat she rounded on Dorian, coming so close to him that they were almost nose to nose. She was a terrifying image, her beautiful volto mask obscuring all but her snarl and fiery green eyes.  
  
“What did you say?” she snapped.  
  
“I think that you were not displaced within dimensions, but within time,” Dorian began, and Shepard took a half step back from him. “It explains so many of the things that we have identified as being similar but not quite identical about our worlds. I believe that the confluence of energy that was created by your weapon and our breach is actually a portal in time.”  
  
Shepard turned toward Cole as though she were asking him a silent question.  
  
“Time is different there,” Cole said simply, as though it explained everything. It did seem to have an effect on Shepard, however, as her mouth seemed to relax a bit and her shoulders fell forward.  
  
“You told me before,” Shepard said before she turned back to Dorian. “He never said it was a different place.”  
  
Dorian’s mind was racing, his memories rushing back toward all of the time and energy that he had spent working with Alexius on the amulet which was meant to manipulate time. Originally it had been an exercise in futility, assuming that magic could control time, but as it became more of a possibility they had intended to use it for good. Alexius, unfortunately had misconstrued what that meant, and it had lead to the entire mess of events that had happened at Redcliffe.  
  
Shepard walked over to where the other bottle of wine sat on the floor and Dorian watched as she picked it up and uncorked it. She brought the bottle to her lips and took a long drink.  
  
“In comparison to Shepard’s time, are we in the future or the past?” Dorian asked Cole, assuming that the boy would know.  
  
“Parallel lines never meet, but every other pair of lines meets once and drifts apart forever. But those are straight lines,” Cole said calmly.  
  
“As clear as ever, my boy,” Dorian sighed.  
  
Dorian turned back to Shepard, who was standing in the middle of the room staring at the bottle of wine in her hand. It was impossible to know what she was thinking in that moment; she was still for a long time.  
  
“Does this actually change anything?” Shepard asked as she looked up at Dorian.  
  
“We have been operating under the false assumption that you are from another dimension entirely,” Dorian began excitedly. “If you are truly from another time in this universe, perhaps it would be easier to move you back to your time.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Shepard asked quietly.  
  
“Well, theoretically I assume that time travel should be easier than inter dimensional world travel. At the very least we have some practical evidence that time travel is possible,” Dorian said.  
  
“What would that mean for me?” Shepard asked.  
  
She spoke to him while remaining perfectly still and it was an eerie effect. Dorian didn’t even know where to begin with the implications of time travel. How could you boil it down into a simple explanation of the impact it might have?  
  
“All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better,” Cole said before Dorian could speak.    
  
Dorian watched as Shepard’s hand tensed around the wine bottle and before he could move toward her she let out a yell and threw it at the wall closest to them. It shattered, sending pieces of glass and trails of deep red wine across the stone.  
  
Shepard was a woman standing on the edge of a precipice, waiting for someone to give her a push or tell her to jump. She couldn’t see any of the other options. Dorian silently walked toward her with his arms wide open and she fell into them, sobbing against his chest. He remained uncharacteristically quiet as he held her firmly in his arms. Cole disappeared from the room.  
  
Dorian could not imagine the burden that this woman carried. As much as he joked about his homeland, he hated being away from it. But he had only to travel across a continent and he could be back again, whereas Shepard was dependent upon the will of others and the cooperation of space and time to have even a hope of going home.  
  
“I am sorry,” Dorian said. “You do not deserve this.”  
  
As Dorian held her he found his mind creating lists of old books, research notes and methods, and an idea formed in his mind. Eventually the sobs subsided, though Shepard remained pressed against his chest.  
  
“I think Cole was confirming some of my worries. If I go forward in time I’ll be replacing myself, and I’ll remember everything, won’t I?”  
  
“Probably,” Dorian said as he considered his previous research.  
  
“How would we even know when to send me to? How much would I want to change if I could? Does that mean I can change things? There are so many variables,” Shepard said as she wiped away the streaks of tears left on her cheeks.    
  
“I may be able to find out more information,” he said, and Shepard looked up at him. “I have done some research with time magic before, and I could see what I can dig up. If it would be of use to you.”  
  
“How so?” she asked.  
  
“I cannot make any promises, but I am a very talented mage and also rather brilliant,” Dorian said. “I know that Alexius is still imprisoned at Skyhold. I may be able to prod him for further information regarding our research and attempt to figure out how he made it work. It worked at Redcliffe when Max and I were sent ahead in time by a year. I could at least attempt to find an answer to a few of your questions.”  
Shepard pulled away from Dorian and nodded before wrapping her arms around herself. He was surprised that this amazing woman, who always seemed larger than life, could appear so small and unsure.  
  
Dorian was not sure how long this would take, but it was certainly a project that he manage. As his mind was finally catching up to himself he realized the impact that Shepard’s departure might have. The Inquisition spoke about it in abstract terms, but Dorian had realized that perhaps no one had actually expected her to leave. It would have some astounding implications; Cullen would be devastated, among other things.  
  
“There are some considerations to discuss—,” Dorian began, but Shepard cut him off.  
  
“For now I would appreciate knowing anything that you find out,” she said. “I’m also hoping that you can keep this between us?”  
  
“Of course,” he responded. He was unsure of how Maxwell would figure in to all of this. Dorian would have to talk to him eventually, but he thought it best to get some research together before asking Shepard about that.  
  
Shepard gave Dorian a sheepish look and muttered, “Sorry about the wine.”  
  
“Not to worry my dear, I’ve had more than my fair share this evening.”  
  
“I can’t wait to get out of this place,” she said as she straightened out her dress. It had been quite the evening.  
 They heard a large commotion coming from the ballroom, and Dorian knew that it was likely their cue to reconvene with the rest of the Inquisition.  
  
Dorian extended an arm to her and said, “Shall we find out what Maxwell has been up to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content" - As You Like It, William Shakespeare
> 
> “All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better." Samuel Beckett


	28. Wicked Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I disappeared for a while. Life has a way of getting in the way sometimes! I am hoping to be back for semi-regular updates now. Hope that you're all well :).

A small convoy of carriages took the Inquisition members back to the villa that they were staying in, a large beautiful estate just outside of the palace walls. It was late and the stillness of the air outside the palace settled in around them.   
  
Dorian sat quietly, for once, beside Shepard while Varric was concluding his retelling of how the Inquisitor had revealed the culprit behind Celene’s attempted assassination when they pulled up to their lodgings. Shepard felt a bit guilty that she had not been listening very well, but she had other things weighing on her mind.  
  
Although Shepard had had some time to calm down after finding the Krogan head mounted in the trophy room she was still reeling from the revelation that she had travelled through time, rather than between worlds, and what that could mean. Dorian had seemed excited by the prospect of investigating the implications of potential time travel and for a moment Shepard seemed hopeful that he may be able to come up with a way to send her home. Those feelings had been tempered by the thought of leaving Cullen behind, and in the end Shepard felt angry that she was dealing with the consequences of something that she had never asked for in the first place. Leliana’s elaborate attempt to get under her skin hadn’t helped much either. Shepard was acutely aware that she did not belong, but being at the ball and realizing how truly out of place she was had been a tough pill to swallow—just as the Spymaster had intended.    
  
“You alright Commander?” Varric asked, breaking Shepard out of her muddled thoughts.   
  
“It was a rough night,” she responded.   
  
She didn’t need to elaborate; Varric didn’t miss much, and she assumed that he had picked up on the tension throughout the evening. They came to a stop in front of the villa and Shepard climbed out slowly in her confining dress. Varric declared that he would gather a few people together for a game of Wicked Grace and a few drinks, and Shepard nodded her agreement before he set off to tell the rest of the party. As she looked around she realized that she did not see Cullen anywhere.   
  
“He’s with Maxwell and Cassandra,” Dorian said, as though reading Shepard’s mind. “I suggest we burn this horrendous uniform and I’ll put on something much more appropriate for drinks and cards. You might want to keep that stunning dress on though.”  
  
Shepard snorted in disgust—a habit she was quickly picking up from Cassandra—and hooked her arm through Dorian’s, as grateful now for his presence as she had been a few hours ago at the palace. Leliana stepped out from the doorway of the villa to intercept the pair as they entered.   
  
“Did you have an enjoyable evening?” she asked sweetly.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye Shepard could see Dorian smiling at Leliana while he said, “It was everything I would expect from an Orlesian masquerade.”   
  
“Wonderful,” Leliana said. “I was hoping to steal Shepard for a moment.”  
  
“Sure,” Shepard responded.   
  
She could feel Dorian tense beside her, but she looked over to him and gave him a slight nod, letting him know that it was alright. The three of them walked up the grand staircase together before separating to attend to their rooms. Leliana and Shepard walked silently down the hallway to Shepard’s room, each woman assessing the other.   
  
When they entered the room Shepard took off her mask and tossed it onto the bedside table before kicking off her shoes. She tried in vain to undo the back of her dress.  
  
“I would be happy to help you with your dress. I know a corset can be such a pain, and I imagine it is not something that you’re used to,” Leliana said in her sing-song voice.   
  
Shepard went to stand in front of the floor-length mirror where Leliana stood waiting to help her with her dress. Shepard was cautious, feeling vulnerable as she turned her back to Leliana.   
  
“There are a lot things I’ve learned to get used to here,” Shepard said simply.   
  
Leliana gave Shepard a vibrant smile as she began to loosen the lacing at the back of Shepard’s dress. Shepard pressed her lips together in a thin line before she relaxed her face into her neutral Commander mask. She decided that she was not going to play this game any longer.   
  
Pulling away from Leliana she turned to face her and calmly said, “We both know that I’m not very good at this. If you have something to say, just say it.”  
  
Leliana moved into a defensive position as she crossed her arms over her chest and fixed Shepard with a piercing stare.   
  
“We both know that you do not belong here,” Leliana began. “Despite what everyone else might say, I think that you are dangerous. We do not know the extent of your powers, you have no reason to remain loyal to the Inquisition, and you compromise Cullen’s ability to do his job.”   
  
As frustrated as  Shepard was, there was no denying that Leliana was only acting out of true dedication to her cause, which was something that Shepard could understand and respect.   
  
“I may not be loyal to your cause, but I’m loyal to your people, which you know very well,” Shepard said evenly, “I’ve been open about who I am and how I got here, and aside from that incident at the Breach I have been nothing but cooperative. What more do you want?”   
  
Shepard thought that she saw the slightest bit of tension flicker in Leliana’s jaw, which told her that she had hit a nerve.  
  
“I want you to stay out of our way,” Leliana said, her voice low and sharp, “The Inquisition is Thedas’ best hope of standing against Corypheus and you have no true stake in it aside from your desire to return home. If that is truly what you want then I have to question whether you are as invested in our people as you say you are. Though Cullen is handsome, I’m not sure you appreciate him as anything more than the man who warms your bed at night.”   
Shepard flinched as she felt the telltale prickle of eezo flaring under her skin, a warning that told her she was letting emotions get in the way. Leliana was egging her on and Shepard tried to restrain herself.   
  
“I care about Cullen,” Shepard said, gritting her teeth.   
  
“Do you care for him enough that you would commit to a life in Thedas?” Leliana asked sincerely. “Would you give up returning to your world?”   
  
Shepard held her breath as panic fluttered through her stomach. She and Cullen generally avoided the topic of her returning to her world; to him it seemed a far-off worry, something that would be attended to after Corypheus had been defeated. Shepard, fearing where the conversation might lead, simply chose to let sleeping dogs lie, but she knew that her feelings had been exposed through her reaction to Leliana’s carefully directed questions. The woman standing across from her had a sweet smile on her face, but in here eyes was a predatory look, and Shepard knew that Leliana would go in for the kill.   
  
“I understand from Josephine that you and Cullen are taking a holiday together when we leave here. A very romantic gesture from our handsome Commander, who under any other circumstance is only forcibly separated from work,” Leliana pressed.   
  
Shepard had nothing to say. She knew that Leliana was not wrong. Cullen cared for her, and if she was honest with herself she would have admitted how strong her feelings for him had become. She had been so caught up in them that she had attempted to ignore the truth of how out of place she was in his world, but had almost immediately accepted the help of Dorian to send her home. There was a part of her that could not let go of what she had left behind.   
  
Leliana moved toward the door, stopping briefly to speak to Shepard over her shoulder before she left the room.   
  
“If your intention truly is to return to your world,” Leliana said, “I would request that you let go of Cullen before any more damage can be done. He has grown to care for you a great deal, and surely you are not foolish enough to think that he won’t be absolutely crushed when you leave him.”   
  
Leliana left Shepard to drown in her own thoughts; the only person she could be upset with was herself. Leliana was acting out of loyalty to her cause and her friend, and nothing that she had said had been untrue.   
  
Shepard looked around the ornate bedroom that she found herself in before her eyes finally settled on the floor length mirror. She hardly recognized the woman staring back at her. The feeling was eerily similar to the first time that she had looked at her reflection after Cerberus had brought her back from the dead: everything looked the same but felt entirely different. Her long red hair now fell down well past her shoulders, though it had been pulled up elaborately for the ball, and her skin had been polished so expertly that it appeared to be as delicate as porcelain against the contrast of the beautiful red evening gown. She had even gone without her dog tags on Josephine’s insistence and had given them to Cullen for safekeeping for the evening. She realized now that the absence of them was startling. Staring back at Shepard was a woman, not a soldier, and it was an illusion so tempting that she nearly believed it.  
Cole’s reflection joined hers in the mirror as she saw him behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Not now, Cole,” Shepard whispered.  
  
“But I could hear the hurt calling out. I want to help,” he pleaded.   
  
Shepard knew that he had special abilities that allowed people to accept and forget their pain, but she shook her head, knowing that the kind of help he offered was not what she wanted. She was wrestling with her own feelings, and though she was not sure what she needed to do, she knew that she would not want to forget anything.  
  
“It’s a lot to carry,” Cole said sadly.  
  
“I know, but I need to remember,” Shepard said, staring at the strange version of herself reflected in the mirror. “I have to remember who I am.”   
  
She hadn’t thought about the fact that she had been in Thedas for almost a year until Dorian had mentioned it at the ball earlier in the evening. The idea of going back to her world—or her time, rather—always sat in the back of her mind, but she wondered when she had become so indifferent to waiting for someone else to solve her problems for her. Shepard had always been the kind of person to make decisions based on her gut instinct: think first, act later. Why was she hesitating now?  
  
“Where would I go, if I could go? Who would I be, if I could be, what would I say?” Cole said, quietly filtering through the stream of thoughts racing across Shepard’s mind.   
  
“What if I can’t go back?” Shepard said aloud.   
  
Cole titled his head to the side, regarding her in the mirror from under the brim of his hat. “What if you can?”  
  
There were always so many _ifs_. She was so tired of _ifs._  
  
Shepard moved away from the mirror and sat on the edge of the bed, falling backward and sprawling across it. She stared at the ornate ceiling of the room and tried not to focus on how she had gotten so lost in all of this. She forced herself into Commander mode and tried to think with the mind of a tactician, laying out the scenario and all of the battle plans in front of her. It wouldn’t change things, she knew—so much depended on what Dorian would be able to find out—but it somehow made her feel better to assert some kind of control over understanding the different pieces of the puzzle.   
  
“You can wait for the pieces to come together.”   
  
Shepard bolted upright at the words. She hadn’t realized that Cole had stayed in the room.  
  
“You’re right,” Shepard said, sitting up and scrubbing her hands over her face. “There will be time to figure it out. Sometimes you have to improvise.”  
  
“Like Varric?” Cole asked sweetly.   
  
“Yes, like Varric,” Shepard laughed. She remembered his offer of cards and drinks and stood up. “Why don’t I finish getting changed and we can join everyone for Wicked Grace?”  
  
“The cards like me,” Cole said.  
  
“Everyone likes you, Cole.”


	29. Cole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending out all of my gratitude to those who have waited ages for an update on this story. I'm working on finishing it now.

 

It’s hard to be around them all. Their thoughts in tandem are so loud together, a massive storm with the Inquisitor the eye of it, in the centre of them all. So scared of what comes next. No one knows that Solas is to blame. The dread wolf, lone wolf—lonely, wandering through the fade at night waiting, watching. They are not Cole’s secrets to share. 

He likes when they are all asleep, winding through the fade on their own journeys, and he can move between them and take it all in. They do not even know that his is there with them, watching, listening. 

_“Read it to me Varric,” she says. Her voice is warm, she is teasing him._

_“It’s not finished. You know I don’t give sneak peeks, Seeker.”_

_“Perhaps I could persuade you.”_

Cassandra always has such sweet dreams of Varric. Dwarves do not go into the fade, and so Varric does not dream, but Cole imagines that if he did they would be quite adventurous dreams.

Rainier—Blackwall—lost in a fog of guilt, tossing, turning, crying out in his dreams. Sometimes there was a glimmer of gold, dark hair, kind words. Hopeful, hoping, holding on to the man he could be instead of the one he was. 

Leliana’s dreams were dark and clouded, visited by demons which she always rebuffed. Her heart was hardened now, but Cole knew that it had not always been this way. The Nightingale had lost her songs, gone but not forgotten, hidden away. She needed to protect her friends. She couldn’t before; she needed to now. She asked Shepard to leave. 

Cullen held her as they slept. He dreamt of the tower, crying out into the night. Demons, cages, claws, clawing, gasping, waiting. His arms tightened around her. _Jane._ He would think of her and it would change. Green eyes, pale skin, red hair falling around his face. She saved him every night, over and over. 

She saved everyone, once. But she never saved herself. 


	30. Transient

**** Cullen lay sleeping with his head on Shepard’s chest while she absent-mindedly play with his hair. She had hardly slept, unable to push Leliana’s words from her mind. They had only been sleeping a few hours. The sun had been peeking over the horizon by the time their game of Wicked Grace had finally concluded. Shepard had gotten better at it over the course of her time with Inquisition but she could hardly keep up with Varric, Bull, or Josephine. The three of them had fleeced nearly every other player, and the few who weren’t playing watched with amusement. With the weight of the Empress’ near-assassination lifted from them, the Inquisition’s inner circle had been ready to let loose for the evening. Shepard found herself unable to relax. She could feel the Spy Master’s eyes on her all night, something which was seemingly unnoticed by the others in the room save perhaps Cole, who would come to lay a hand on Shepard’s shoulder every once in a while. 

“ _Surely you are not foolish enough to think that he won’t be absolutely crushed when you leave him.”_ The words repeated themselves over and over in her mind. 

It was not as though she had fully decided to leave Thedas. She wasn’t even sure that it was possible. Dorian was exploring some theories out of his interest in time magic, but it certainly wasn’t a guarantee that anything could be done. Shepard had never been the type to worry about the “what if’s.” If you wanted to win a war you needed to focus on fighting the battles, one after another. If Dorian came up with something that could send her home—well that was a battle she would have to fight when she got there. For now she focused on studying Cullen’s face as he slept. The faint line between his eyebrows that had been etched by constant furrowing; the stubblecovering his chin which his hands weren’t steady enough to shave down entirely; the scar that crested his lip. Shepard carefully committed all of these things to memory. 

They stayed like that for a while, Cullen sleeping peacefully while Shepard held him, until the sounds of the Inquisition slowly brought the house to life. Varric and Cassandra could be heard arguing down the hall, and Bull’s booming laugh filled the empty spaces of the large estate house. Shepard could feel Cullen shifting awake against her. 

“What time is it?” he asked sleepily.

“Sometime between breakfast and lunch,” Shepard said, looking out the window in an attempt togauge where the sun was. “Where I’m from we call that brunch.” 

**“** _Brunch_?” Cullen laughed, “ridiculous.” 

Shepard rolled her eyes at him as she got out of bed. 

The rest of the morning passed by rather quickly as the Inquisition gathered themselves together and prepared to leave. The Inquisitor, choosing to waste little time, set out with Dorian, Iron Bull, and Vivienne, while the rest of the group prepared to depart for Skyhold. Cullen and Shepard were headed to Ferelden with a small complement of soldiers to deal with some minor Inquisition business. After it was concluded Cullen intended for the two of them to take a few days to themselves before returning to Skyhold. It had been, up until the night before, a much anticipated break from Skyhold and the Inquisition, but Shepard was feeling shaken by the entire evening at the Winter Palace. 

Shepard’s life had largely been dictated by circumstance. She often found herself in the position of being the one who needed to get things done, and had a strong sense of responsibility for others. She had always tried to remove herself from the equation so that she could make the difficult decisions that no one else could make. The Reaper War had been full of hard calls and split second decisions, and each one she had made with strict determination: she tried to do what was best for the largest number of people and she always accepted the consequences. But now that she was in Thedas the expectations were vastly different. She was along for the ride in this war, and no one was asking for her opinion. She wondered if this was how her squamates had felt during the Reaper War. It was a strange kind of middle ground. 

“You seem rather distracted Shepard, are you alright?” Cullen asked.

Shepard shook the thoughts from her mind. They had been riding for only a couple of hours and she realized that she had remained silent for the better part of the trip. Cullen was looking at her with genuine concern and she felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of her stomach. He had no idea what had happened in the past twenty-four hours. She would tell him as soon as she was able to sort through it on her own, likely as soon as they were settled in somewhere for the night.

“Oh, I’m fine. Just enjoying the scenery,” Shepard said. She gave him a half-hearted smile.

Cullen did not press any further, but Shepard could tell from the look on his face that he had not quite believed her. He had gotten a lot better at reading her in their time together, something which Shepard still had mixed feelings about. In some ways she appreciated it greatly, as it wasa connectionshe had not had with many other people. Garrus always had the tactical stuff down perfectly; she never had to tell him what to do on the battlefield and he was always watching her back. Miranda had always done well on a surface level, but she had the psych profiles to back up her educated guesses. Liara had an unprecedented level of insight after she had been able to dig into the depths of Shepard’s mind, but most of that was historical knowledge. Cullen, Shepard realized, seemed to have a much more holistic sense of her thoughts and feelings, and she was not quite sure if that came from their common backgrounds as soldiers, or an inherent sense of empathy on his part. She was typically much better at keeping an appropriate distance from people, and in this moment she wondered if this was a dangerous line she was toeing. 

Eventually Shepard managed to make passing comments on their surroundings, and Cullen happily told her about the areas that they were passing through. Ferelden was a rugged, open place, and the greenery was a welcome change to the snowy mountains of Skyhold. They were currently travelling through the Hinterlands, near Lake Calenhad, on the way to Redcliffe. Cullen was explaining the history of each of the area in relation to “The Blight,” and someone called “The Hero of Fereldan,” both of which Shepard had heard of but knew very little about. She tried to focus on what Cullen was saying, but would find the back of her mind trying to process all of the other thoughts occupying her subconscious. By the time they had reached a place to camp for the evening her mind was exhausted, and she was glad that the only people accompanying them on this particular trip were Inquisition soldiers. Shepard wasn’t sure that she could handle Varric’s keen eye or Cole’s mind reading right now. 

After the tents had been pitched and a few soldiers posted on watch, they began cooking a hearty stew over the fire. Fresh, hot food was a luxury that Shepard had come to appreciate about Thedas, as she had been to thoroughly accustomed to MREs for the majority of her life. Cullen chatted with the soldiers and made sure that the camp was thoroughly protected before he sat down beside Shepard. She took comfort in the way that his hand would so easily find the small of her back. 

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly. 

Shepard nodded. “Just tired.” 

One of the soldiers began handing out steaming bowls of stew while another passed around large pieces of bread. Cullen seemed to relax easily into the space, obviously at home in a group of soldiers. The small group began to eat and talk, afforded the luxury of a bit of downtime now that they had set up for the night. They all traded stories of battles and skirmishes they had seen with the Inquisition, talked about where they were when the Breach first appeared, and how they had made their way into the Inquisitor’s army in the first place. 

“What about you, my lady?” a young recruit asked, looking at Shepard. “How did you end up in the Inquisitor’s army?” 

Shepard felt Cullen tense beside her, and noticed someone sitting next to the recruit give him a quick kick in the leg, as if he could suddenly retract a question that everyone had heard. 

Shepard calmly swallowed her food and said, “Oh, I fell into it really. A happy accident for me I suppose.” 

A few of the soldiers laughed, while others quickly changed the subject.

Cullen exhaled, relaxing. She knew that having to explain her situation made him anxious, given the number of people who either wanted to exploit abilities for the Inquisition’s benefit or lock her up because of them. Cullen finished silently and then announced that he was going to walk the perimeter. Shepard took this as her cue to retire for the night, knowing that Cullen would quietly enter their tent after she had settled. Although many people were aware of their relationship, the couple found it unnecessary to draw attention. 

Shepard was sitting on top of the bedroll when Cullen came in, working at braiding her long red hair.She gave him a small smile and he started to take off his armour and get ready for sleep. He sat down across from her on the bedroll and cleared his throat, which she knew meant that he was trying to organize his thoughts. She finished the braid and waited silently.

“What’s the matter, Shepard? You have been distracted since we left the Winter Palace, and even though you have told me that you are alright I cannot help but think that there is something bothering you,” he said. 

His words were quick and his hand made its way to the back of his neck, which he did when he was particularly bothered by something. Shepard had known that she couldn’t hide her feelings from Cullen, but she wasn’t sure that she was ready to tell him everything that had happened at the Winter Palace.

“The other night at the palace reminded me that I do not belong in this world, Cullen. I’m not supposed to be here, and everyone knows it. It wasn’t easy. I’m still working through it,” she said. 

Cullen shook his head. “Everything happens for a reason, Shepard. I do not know how you got here but I’ve a feeling that you are meant to be here. I am sorry that the palace was difficult—even I find it to be extremely tiring. You know how I love politics.” 

His voice was flat, the joke falling between them. Shepard could see him switching gears, grasping at some way to connect with her.

“Did something happen? Did someone make you feel out of place?” he asked.

Shepard’s skin prickled with anger as she remembered the Krogan head mounted as trophy. After all she had done with Wrex and Mordin to try and save the Krogan species, the thought of them being hunted to extinction for sport filled her with rage. Leliana’s shrill laugh rang in her ears. 

“What great purpose could I possibly have here, Cullen? You have Skyhold, Trevelyan, and this great Inquisition to defeat Corypheus. I have no place here, no purpose. I’m just along for the ride,” Shepard said. 

She tried to keep her voice even, not wanting the anger to spill over and find itself misdirected at Cullen, who she could see was trying to keep himself calm. 

“Shepard, you cannot honestly believe that. You have been instrumental to our success. Your help at Haven, at Adamant—you saved my life! Our soldiers respect you, the Inquisitor himself trusts you with his life. Maker’s breath, you have even befriended Seeker Cassandra of all things. How can you possibly think that you do not belong?”

“I’m still a prisoner, Cullen. Don’t forget that,” Shepard said. “I’m not free to make any of my own choices until this whole thing with Corypheus is done.” 

“Shepard, please. You know that is a formality! Where else would you be? What could you possibly do in this world on your own?” 

He was stammering now, exasperated and grasping. Shepard could feel him getting defensive and she could see the effort it was taking him to remain calm. She wanted to reach out and hold him, to tell him to forget the whole thing and hide all of it away. On the other hand she wanted to shout her frustrating at him and demand empathy. Feelings were always so damn messy, and this is why she hated them.

“None of this was supposed to happen—this isn’t my world. I have no place in it and I miss my home. Cullen, please understand that just because I don’t want to be here doesn’t mean I don’t care for you. It means that it’s complicated. I have to reconcile those feelings,” she said, reaching a hand out toward him. 

He took his hand in her own, holding it for a moment before he brought it up to his lips and kissed it softly, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I wish it wasn’t complicated. I like to believe that it’s simple,” Cullen said quietly. “I think sometimes that the Maker sent you here. You are unlike anyone that I have ever known.” 

The moment his eyes fixed on hers, Shepard’s stomach was fluttering, heart pounding in her chest. She knew that they had been building up to a moment like this, when the dam between them would break and there would be no way to stop the current of everything rushing through. But Shepard held back, as she always did. She wasn’t ready for this. 

“Why do things get so serious with us?” Shepard said. “I think we both need to relax.” 

Cullen nodded, the moment passing between them. 

“Right, well we are on a holiday, so I suppose we could try and enjoy it?” 

He shifted then, climbing into the bedroll and motioning for Shepard to join him. Cullen lay on his back, leaving his arm up so that she could lay down against his chest. Shepard settled against him and let out a sign of relief. She decided in that moment that she could wait to tell Cullen about her conversation with Dorian, given that they were unsure of whether or not it would actually work. For now, she would be happy with the time that they had together.


	31. The Past is Never Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the folks sticking around for this story. And for those who've just found it, I hope that you're enjoying it so far.

Shepard woke with a start, realizing it was eerily quiet. She instinctively reached a hand out for Cullen but found the space beside her empty. Her hand ran over soft, undisturbed sheets and she realized that something was wrong. Shepard sat up immediately and surveyed her surroundings. She looked up through the skylight and saw stars rushing by overhead and heard the distinct hum of the Normandy’s engine. Shepard closed her eyes and pinched herself as she tried to shake the daze of sleep. When she opened her eyes she was still in her cabin on the Normandy.

She threw back the covers and stepped onto the ground, finding that her footing was quite solid. She reached into the bedside table and loaded her Carnifex, relishing the sound of the clip sliding into place. It had been so long since she had held a gun. Shepard assessed her space as she slowly approached the door to her cabin.

“This has to be a dream,” she said, unlocking the door. 

“Commander Shepard, is there a safety concern which I am unaware of?”

Shepard screamed as EDI’s voice filled the cabin, taking cover inside the doorway. _This is impossible,_ Shepard thought. When she had spoken to the catalyst AI it had told her that destroying the Reapers would destroy EDI. 

“Commander Shepard, are you alright? Your vital signs are showing a high level of destress.”

Shepard shook her head, trying to clear the fog that had settled into her mind. A thought was tugging on her memory, her instincts telling her that something about this was wrong, but it was disappearing as she shook off sleep.

“EDI, where are we?”

“We are re-entering Citadel space, Shepard. We have just returned from Earth,” the AI said. 

“The Citadel? That’s not possible—I destroyed it. I destroyed you,” Shepard said aloud. 

Her thoughts were out of place and she was struggling to remember. It did not seem at all possible that she was back on the Normandy, but it felt so real. So comfortable. Safe. 

“You did not destroy the entire Citadel. You were discovered in critical condition and have been recovering on Earth. Repairs have been slow with the lack of Reaper technology, but they have been possible through inter-species cooperation. We are returning to the functioning portion of the Citadel in order to assist with reinstating the Council,” EDI said matter of factly. 

Shepard stepped over to her desk and began to survey the data pads she found there. Her terminal was off and she seemed unable to turn it on. She looked down at her wrist and attempted to open her omni tool, which also failed to work. Something was definitely wrong. 

“I am concerned for you Commander. I am going to ask Officer Vakarian to attend to you.” 

“EDI, don’t call Garrus. That’s an order,” Shepard said. A shiver ran down her spine. 

“But isn’t that what you want, Shepard? Don’t you want Garrus to tell you that everything will be okay?”

The AI’s voice was distorted now, changing from its direct and forthright tone to one which was softer, more tempting. Shepard knew that this could not be real, but it did not quite feel like a dream either. 

“What is this?” she yelled. “Cole! Are you there? Help!”

She ran to the entrance and realized that it would not open. She held her pistol tightly and waited. A woman-like creature appeared in her cabin and things began to look hazy. 

“Shepard,” the creature purred, “I only wish to give you your every desire. Let me help you.” 

Shepard emptied the gun’s entire clip into the creature and it hissed with displeasure. The illusion of the cabin faded away into an eerie, undefinable space that looked like a blurry imitation of a forest. The Carnifex disappeared from Shepard’s hand and the creature floated in front of her. 

“What are you and what do you want?” Shepard yelled. 

“It is a desire demon.” 

Solas appeared to Shepard’s right, entering the space between her and the apparent demon. 

“Perfect,” Shepard said, eyeing Solas warily. 

“Your sarcasm is always greatly appreciated,” Solas said dryly. “Begone, demon.” 

The demon glared at Solas with disdain before she looked back at Shepard. “Beware the presence of the dread wolf for he preys upon the unknowing.” 

The demon faded away and Shepard saw the briefest flinch from Solas and noted it immediately. She had no idea what a dread wolf was, but based on his reaction it wasn’t good.

“The fade?”

“Of course,” Solas said. 

Shepard shook her head. She was sick of the fade and its illusions. It was so much stronger than a dream. She had felt the weight of the Carnifex in her hands and the cold floor of her cabin under her feet. EDI’s voice had sounded so real.

“The fade is the most wonderful and dangerous place that exists,” Solas said, as if he had been reading her mind. “Enjoying your holiday?” 

Shepard tensed, feeling anger brewing in her stomach at Solas’ arrogance. He was so unnerving, and despite his unassuming appearance his eyes held an almost predatory hunger. Shepard was reminded of what the demon had said and how the elf had shown a hint of a reaction. Her gut told her it was a pressure point. 

“What do you want, Solas? Here to prey upon the unknowing?” Shepard said. 

She assumed a more relaxed posture, crossing her arms lazily and trying to look bored. Although she had no clue what the dread wolf comment had meant, she could tell that it bothered Solas.

“You know nothing of the name you speak,” Solas said. 

_A name then_ , Shepard thought. She could tell that he was getting flustered as she watched the muscles in his jaw tighten. Interrogation was something she could handle and it made her relax a bit more. Shepard had seen Varric and Solas interact enough times to know that Solas had a very low threshold for jokes. 

“Considering a _demon_ just gave me a warning about being alone with you, I know that it’s not a good thing,” she said. “How does someone get a name like Dread Wolf anyway?”

Solas’ hands tightened into fists, his anger now visible. 

“It is not my name!” he yelled. “You mean to mock me with this childish impudence? You are playing with forces that you cannot even begin to comprehend.”

It was the first time that she had seen Solas lose his composure and Shepard studied him carefully. She knew that he was a very powerful mage and that he had extensive knowledge about magic and eleven history. His expertise seemed to be well-regarding amongst the Inquisition, and Shepard knew that Dorian would even grudgingly acknowledge Solas’ abilities. So why was someone so powerful and capable reaching out to her? Shepard realized that Solas had used her at the breach, but now she knew better than to trust him, so why was he seeking her out as an ally? She jumped at the opportunity to get him talking.

“Then why are you talking to me, Solas? Surely there are other people who could be of more use to you, yet you always seem to seek me out. And always when I’m sleeping—a bit creepy, don’t you think?”

Shepard laughed, taking note of the elf’s furrowed brow and tense posture. Solas seemed to be fighting with himself; it was obvious that he did not want to be talking to Shepard, which perhaps meant that he had no other options. She still wasn’t sure how the nickname Dread Wolf figured in to any of this. Solas remained deep in thought for a few more moments before his anger dissipated and he returned to his difficult to read facade. He fixed Shepard with a piercing stare. 

“You were an accident of the breach and I had hoped that your abilities would be of use. I believe they will be valuable in defeating Corypheus, which will assist me with my own goals. As you have positioned yourself well within the Inquisition, I have a favour to ask you.”

“Hell no,” Shepard responded quickly. “You fooled me once, but it won’t happen again.”

Solas was standing at ease now, his features more relaxed. The elf showed the slightest hint of a smirk. 

“The nature of the agreement is quite simple. Given your friendship with the Inquisitor, I imagine that you will be present for the final strike against Corypheus. He carries an elven artifact which I must recover, and I would ask that you retrieve it for me should you have the opportunity.”

Shepard stepped forward to face Solas squarely, her posture strong and defiant. “I said no.” 

It seemed the move did little to intimidate Solas, who acted as though he had not noticed the change in demeanour from Shepard. She wondered why he thought she would agree to something like this given their history. She wondered how much time she had to continue pressing for information. 

“Who’s to say I don’t tell someone about these little visits you pay me? Tell Leliana that a demon passed on the info that your name is the Dread Wolf?” 

Solas let out a harsh laugh as if to mock her.

“This would not be the first time I have rescued you from the fade, and you have very little understanding of our world. It would not be a difficult explanation,” he said. “And I am aware that Leliana does not have the same feelings toward you as the rest of the Inquisition. Telling her would be of little consequence.” 

Fury was building inside Shepard and she clenched her fists, expecting her biotics to flare, but was surprised when she felt nothing. Solas laughed at this gesture and waved her off.

“Your abilities mean little here, and you are wasting our time. All I need from you is an agreement to help me if you are presented with the opportunity.”

Shepard shook her head at him, incredulous.

“I don’t know why you are deluded enough to think that I would help you. And I don’t need my biotics to kick your ass.” 

Solas laughed aloud at this. “I understand that Dorian is working on a very particular project for you—an advanced and powerful time spell to send you back to your home. How terrible for poor Commander Cullen to be so unaware.”

“How do you know this?” Shepard asked. 

Panic was rising in her stomach and she was feeling off balance. She had no idea how Solas knew so much, but she was aware of the impact that the information could have. She had been agonizing over telling Cullen, wanting him to respect that she was considering it while also understanding that she had not yet made a decision on what to do. 

“It does not matter,” Solas responded. “What does matter is that Dorian is missing a key component, a specific magic which is locked away in a place that is very difficult to reach unless you have a door to access it and a key.” 

Shepard deflated, knowing that Solas had her right where he wanted her. She had not anticipated all of his moves and he had outplayed her. 

“Why should that matter to me?” Shepard said, trying to regain composure. “What if I don’t want Dorian’s spell? I can stay in Thedas and I would be perfectly.” 

Solas began speaking again, striding back and forth with such arrogance that it reminded Shepard of a professor giving a lecture.

“You could have told Dorian not to bother, but you did not. You could have talked to Cullen about this, but you have not. I know that you are a military Commander and I am sure you have thought about possible outcomes for each of your options. Should Dorian’s spell be successful, you would have the opportunity to go back to your own time and possibly correct mistakes or alter events in a beneficial way. Think of the possibilities of having future knowledge which no one else does—I am sure that it is quite tempting.”

Solas was wearing a devilish grin now and Shepard could not deny the impact of his words. Of course she had thought of the possible outcomes. Depending upon what Dorian came up with, and how accurately it would be able to send Shepard back, there may be an opportunity for her to change the course of events in the Reaper War. If she had known everything that she currently knew when she was chasing Saren, or when the Collectors had shown up, things would be entirely different. They would have known that the Catalyst existed and how to use it, they would have beaten Cerberus to the punch, she could prevent so much destruction and death, and she could have saved some of her friends. Shepard could feel the guilt creeping in through her skin and she had no response for Solas. 

Shepard sighed and raised her hands, acknowledging that Solas had won this round. _Tactical retreat,_ she thought to herself. 

“I will leave you with this: return the eleven artifact which Corypheus carries to me, and in exchange I will provide you with what you need for your time spell. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Solas disappeared into the fog of the fade and Shepard felt things going dark around her as she shook herself out of sleep. The whole thing felt like a terrible lucid dream. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, looking over to see Cullen fast asleep in his bedroll beside her. Shepard had to stop herself from running her hand through his hair so that she would not wake him up. Cullen knew her well enough at this point to be able to sense that something was off. It was impressive how easily he could read her, given that there had only been one other person in her life that was capable of such a feat. Generally Shepard prided herself on being an enigma to most people. It was like wearing an extra layer of armour. Cullen had slowly worked his way through and found his way to the woman hiding behind it. 

She realized in that moment that she had been unfair to him. He had given her every opportunity to confide in him, but Shepard had stayed quiet. She knew that she was entitled to her own feelings and that it was not a necessity to tell Cullen, but she had always respected his opinion in the past. Shepard determined that she would speak to him tomorrow when they reached Honnleath, which was where they were meant to finish out their trip. For now, she needed some air. She quietly picked up her things so as not to disturb Cullen and silently left their tent, wondering to herself how she would approach this particular battle.


End file.
